


Imperfect Synchronization: Sarumi Drabble Collection

by SilverThunder



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Top!Fushimi, Top!Yata
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 31,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5751265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverThunder/pseuds/SilverThunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of drabbles I've written that weren't long enough or meaty enough to justify titles and summaries of their own. Some of them contain explicit content, so pay attention to the warnings in each chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request:** can you write a Sarumi fic on what would have happened if they had joined scepter 4 instead of Homra?

****"Are we actually supposed to be here by ourselves?" Yata glanced sideways at Saruhiko, and almost stumbled as his sword caught on his legs - _again_. He tugged irritably at the hilt. _Such a pain in the ass._ "I mean, we're supposed to be part of a team or something, right?"

He got a raised eyebrow for his trouble. "Since when do you care about the rules?"

"I don't!" It was the truth - so much of Scepter 4 was about _rules_ , and most of them were stupid, as far as Yata could see. Rules about when to draw your sword, how you used it, who you could use it on, how much of a report you needed to write depending on when and how and why it was used. Rules about what to say, where to stand, what to wear, how to act... It was stifling; he felt like he couldn't breathe sometimes - mainly because he was afraid he'd do it wrong. "I just don't want that bitchy lieutenant to yell at us."

Saruhiko shrugged dismissively. "She's not important. Just ignore her."

"Easy for you to say." Yata scowled up at the supposedly abandoned warehouse in front of them. It was dark out, so the area was cloaked in shadow - kind of a cliche place for a drug cache to be hidden, but no one said criminals were geniuses. "The Blue King likes you, so you're safe."

_And they only let me in because he wanted you to join._ It was the part that he never admitted out loud - honestly, it kind of stung. He'd worked hard building up his skills back when he and Saruhiko were just partners on their own, and now it was like none of them were worth anything, and the people in his new clan all just humored him because his best friend was smart. His skateboard was collecting dust back at their dorm.

Saruhiko frowned, and looked like he was about to respond to that dig about the Blue King, but was interrupted by the sudden chorus of alarmed shouts ringing out from the direction of the warehouse.

They exchanged a quick, startled glance, then broke into a run.

In front of them, there were flashes of red exploding out from the darkened entrance, like a kind of fireworks show. "What the hell is that?" Yata demanded, still gripping his sword's hilt to keep it from tripping him up as he worked to keep up with Saruhiko's long-legged stride.

This would've been a hell of a lot easier if he'd had his skateboard... but no, that was another stupid _rule_.

"Can't you tell?" There was a hint of impatience in Saruhiko's tone, but Yata knew better than to take it personally - they'd been together long enough now for him to get to know his partner's quirks. "It's aura - another clan. Red clan, based on the color."

"'Ch, seriously?" This could get annoying if that was the case. But at least it would be less boring than dealing with the usual trash. Yata couldn't help but grin a bit, feeling an old, almost forgotten edge of exhileration. "You and I can take 'em, though, right?"

That earned him another raised eyebrow - but it was more of a 'do you really need to ask that?' than a 'what the hell are you talking about?' Yata's grin widened.

_Finally, something exciting to do..._

As it turned out, that was an understatement.

They'd just about reached the entrance when something sort of flickered in the air, and the entire scene in front of them seemed to erupt into a brilliant, firy red. Yata halted in his tracks and nearly stumbled, caught off guard by that sudden burst of what looked - and _felt_ \- like raw power.

Beside him, he thought he heard Saruhiko curse, but that only vaguely registered.

He kind of wondered - in that same vague place at the back of his head - why he didn't think to cover his face or duck or something.

The blast of red power seemed to split off, revealing the man at the center - tall, red-haired, and gold-eyed. He stood with his hands in his pockets as if none of this was out of the ordinary, casually gazing out at the wreckage of the drug dealing hideout as the smoke cleared around him.

_So cool..._ The words kind of came into Yata's head before he really thought it through - but seriously, the guy looked like an action hero or something. How could you not think that was awesome?

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, and Yata glanced at him, startled. "I didn't think they'd have their King with them," he muttered. For some reason, he looked really irritated. There was a kind of tension to him that didn't seem normal, that was for sure - his eyes were all narrow and his brows had knotted up at the center of his forehead. "We might as well just go, since that's the case."

"Hah?" Yata raised an eyebrow, and glanced back at the red-haired man. _So, he's a King?_ He was way more of a badass than Munakata, but that just had to make it more exciting to follow him, right? "Why should we go? Weren't we going to bust those assholes with the drugs?"

"I'm pretty sure they don't need any more busting than that," Saruhiko pointed out dryly, and clicked his tongue. "All that's left is clean-up, but if you want to go ahead and get involved, be my guest. You'll just have to spend the rest of the night writing up a report about it."

_Ugh._ Yata made a face, feeling a little of his soul shrivel up at the thought. He stole another look at the red clan, now converging around their King, and blinked a little when he made eye-contact with a slender blond man. The man smiled at him, and somehow Yata found the corners of his mouth edging up in return.

Something about that guy put him at ease, and he wasn't sure why.

The man nudged his King's arm then, and that golden-eyed stare lazily shifted in their direction.

Yata didn't even have to wonder about the little thrill he got from being the focus of that gaze. _So cool, so cool, so cool!_ What would it be like to be a clansman to a King like _that_? The red clan must be the most awesome force in the universe!

Saruhiko suddenly grabbed his elbow and jerked him back. "Let's go," he said shortly, obviously still bothered by something or other.

There was really no arguing with him when he got like that. Yata let out a frustrated breath, stole one final glance at the Red King, and turned, tugging his arm free and falling into step beside his best friend. "Yeah, yeah." He couldn't help but grin, all the same. "That was really awesome, though, wasn't it?"

"It's just the same kind of thing any King can do," Saruhiko mumbled in return. He was scowling for some reason, and wouldn't make eye contact. That tension from before hadn't gone away. "You could probably get the Captain to show you something similar; it's not that big a deal."

Yata frowned at him, a little thrown by the weird behavior. "Well, yeah, but not like _that_! I mean, that was _really_ cool! You thought so too, right?"

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, still not looking at him, and didn't bother to answer.

"Ah, whatever, be like that!" Honestly, sometimes dealing with this guy could be a pain. Yata resisted the urge to look over his shoulder again, instead thinking back to the red burst of power and how it had shifted to reveal the Red King at its center, and grinned again, oddly excited. "I still think it was awesome!"

It was weird, though - and he didn't really feel like mentioning it - but...

Even though the red aura hadn't come anywhere near close enough to touch him, somehow it felt like his whole being was on fire, from the tips of his fingers all the way down to the very core of his soul.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request:** this is such a vague prompt i am sorry omg but something sappy? like established relationship sarumi being the cutest

It was just about midnight when Fushimi turned the key in the lock and opened the door to his apartment, mumbling out a tired, half-irritable, "I'm home," as he stepped into the entranceway.

The overtime had not been planned, and he wasn't particularly happy about having to put it in (not that he ever was, but in situations where it couldn't be helped, at least it felt somewhat worthwhile). The fact of the matter was that someone (he hadn't been given the name, but he would find out, and there would be hell to pay) had not been vigilant when bringing in a recent arrest, and the strain had wrecked havoc around headquarters until he had been properly restrained and confined - following which there had been emergency clean-up, injuries to tend to, and additional reports to write.

None of it necessary in the slightest, had whichever idiot who had caused the whole thing just paid attention in the first place.

All in all, he was in a foul mood, and Misaki's response to his text that he'd be home late had included some derogatory remark about Scepter 4, which he hadn't replied to at the time. On the train ride home, though, he'd had a chance to think up any number of _possible_ responses, and he could almost map out the argument they were going to have in his head now.

So, when he got back nothing but the steady influx of noise from the TV, it threw him a little.

_He went to bed already?_

Well, that would make things simpler, but it was a little disappointing all the same. Not because he'd wanted to fight - arguing with Misaki was more of an irritation than anything now, especially given that they had more interesting ways to spend their time together - but because it meant there'd be no interaction at all until he got home from work _tomorrow_. And that was assuming that Misaki didn't pick up another shift or have plans with friends or anything like that.

_Pointless._ Fushimi clicked his tongue, feeling tired and cranky and altogether out-of-sorts. There was a plate of covered food on the counter in the kitchen, but he wasn't particularly hungry. The apartment felt too still.

At least, he reasoned, pulling off his jacket and heading in to turn off the TV, he could climb into bed and curl around Misaki, which may or may not wake him up. The bed wasn't all that big, so it could be reasoned away easily enough if need be. He preferred it when there was as little space between them as possible, although Misaki sometimes grumbled about wanting some room to get comfortable. For all the complaints, though, he didn't push Fushimi away, and sometimes even held on right back, so it was fine.

That plan had just barely formed in his head when he wandered over to look for the TV remote, but it fell apart immediately when he caught sight of Misaki's ungracefully sprawled form on the couch.

_So, he fell asleep watching TV._ That was typical. And he was making a pretty undignified picture right now, too: one arm and leg hanging off the side of the couch, shirt hiked up, and a hand on his exposed belly with the fingers curled like he'd been scratching at it. His head was propped against the arm of the couch, mouth hanging slack and eyelids fluttering ever so slightly as his chest rose and fell with the regular breathing of deep sleep.

There were times when Fushimi wondered how he'd allowed so much of himself to be tied together with this person - this totally ordinary human being, with below average intelligence and a complete inability to grasp any form of subtlety or inflection. Undersized Misaki, with his naturally downturned lips, and his flat-eyed stare, and his scruffy auburn hair.

That face never left his head, but somehow looking at it in person always made his heart seem to turn in his chest.

Stupid, really, when you thought about it.

There wasn't much point in thinking about it these days, though. Fushimi reached out with the immediate intent of shaking Misaki awake so that he could move to a bed, and then stopped in mid-reach, considering.

In a lot of ways, the motions of 'dating someone' were kind of like a ridiculously elaborate dance, complete with an obstacle course of trivial, annoying things that kept being thrown out onto the floor while you tried to match up your steps with your partner's. Before he'd rationalized out what some of the things he felt about Misaki actually meant, it had seemed like a disgusting amount of effort for an - at best - dubious return.

As it turned out, the 'disgusting amount of effort' was actually very frequently true - compromising on this and being attentive to that while having to stop at various points and actually talk about 'feelings' or some nebulous equivalent... It could be beyond frustrating, and the fact that it came far more easily to Misaki than to him had led to more than one argument that ended up seeming unnecessarily dramatic in hindsight.

'Dubious return', though... that was where he - privately - had to admit he'd been wrong.

Right now, there was a large potential return to be had on a relatively small amount of effort on his part. Fushimi studied Misaki's slumbering face, and felt that peculiar twinge that was part excitement, part anxiety, and somehow entirely addictive. One of the things that came up regularly when Misaki was truly angry with him - as opposed to just irritated or moderately pissed off - was the repeated question of 'do you even care?' or 'why do I always have to be the one to push for things?' There was really no point in even talking about it, in Fushimi's opinion; it was frustrating that it came up at all. He _cared_ , and after the painful breakdowns and the awkward emotional talks and all of the things he still sometimes didn't feel comfortable remembering, Misaki was most definitely aware of that. Pushing for things had always, _always_ been Misaki's job, though, and half of the time Fushimi didn't even know what there was to push for until it came up.

The other half of the time, it was in moments like this, where there was clearly _something_ he could do - maybe it wasn't exactly pushing for anything, but the same principle applied - but doing it felt awkward. And really, Misaki was supposed to be the awkward one - blunt, headstrong, heart-on-his-sleeve Misaki. In this aspect of his life, at least, Fushimi was content to be pulled forward by the hand holding onto his.

Still, though... little things like this weren't so hard, in the end.

_Might as well just go ahead, then._ Bracing himself on the arm of the couch with one hand, Fushimi bent down over Misaki's slumbering form. A last minute touch of hesitation caught him as he drew closer, hovering indecisively just above that familiar face, and then he firmly shut the door on that corner of his brain and closed the rest of the distance in order to cover Misaki's lips with his.

He had only a few seconds to recognize how odd it felt for the contact to be so one-sided, and then Misaki was stirring under him, shifting his limbs and making a small, confused noise against Fushimi's lips as he regained his awareness.

The kiss broke. There was a sharp intake of breath near his mouth, and when he lifted his head and opened his eyes, Misaki was staring blurrily up at him as if he had no idea where he was or what was happening. "Saru?" he mumbled, voice foggy with sleep.

Something about that bewildered, half-awake expression was really endearing. Fushimi felt his chest twist tighten up a little, not unpleasantly. "I'm back," he murmured, for lack of anything better to say.

Misaki's answering smile was warm and sleepy, lidded eyes already bright behind the haziness. "Hey," he answered, still groggy but with obvious fondness in his tone. One of his hands slid around to the back of Fushimi's neck, urging him back down. "Welcome home."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request:** For sarumisa could you write the most kinkiest thing they've done in bed?
> 
> **Warning:** Contains explicit sexual content.

Yata wasn't sure if he was feeling more anticipation or embarrassment when Saruhiko came back into the bedroom, but he wasn't about to give either away. "Hey."

Maybe that was a little _too_ casual; he got a raised eyebrow in return. "Is that how you'd greet the person who's going to heal your battle wounds, Misaki?"

"Sh-Shut up!" Ah, damnit... now he wasn't sure if he'd ruined the whole thing. Still, he had to admit that Saruhiko looked good - better than he'd imagined in those half-baked fantasies, even. The way the hood of that red-lined white robe sat over his head, casting a fetching shadow over his face... It was open at the front, which totally didn't match the video game version, but it did reveal the slender lines of his boyfriend's body, broken only by the pair of tight white boxer-briefs.

Really, it was only the bland expression that kind of didn't fit. "Y-You could look a little more..." Fuck, this really was too embarrassing. "... you know..."

"How should I know? This was your idea." Saruhiko crossed the room to him, reaching out to tap the single shoulder plate that was Yata's only article of clothing outside of the criss-crossed belts hanging low on his hips over his own boxer-briefs. "Tell me how I should look," he added, and then smiled faintly, almost smugly, and tossed in a much softer, "Misaki."

_Bastard._ That tone had never failed to make him shudder, and now was no exception. Yata resisted the urge to shoot back an irritated response; he'd come this far with this... thing... and there was no way he was going to spoil it before they'd even got to the good part. "It's r-role-play s-sex, you asshole," he muttered, turning his gaze to the side as he felt his face grow hot, "what do you think?"

It hadn't been easy to ask for, either - and it didn't help that his boyfriend's initial response was to fix him with a flat-eyed stare and comment, 'You're really weird, aren't you?' The fact that Yata's muttered offer to maybe act out one of Saruhiko's kinks afterwards was met with the bland assertion that he didn't actually have any just kind of topped it off.

But, well, he _had_ agreed to it without any real mockery... That was something, right?

"Ah, right, that." When he looked back, Saruhiko's eyes had taken on that familiar heavy-lidded heat. "I'll make sure to play the role well - just as long as you do the same."

That was better. Yata straightened, gaining back some confidence from the evidence of his partner's interest, and managed to summon up what he hoped was a cocky grin. "We're going to party up, right? You'd better take good care of my health."

"Mm." Saruhiko ran a finger down his chest, stopping just short of the elastic band of his underwear. "I'll be sure to heal you properly. But first..." He hooked that wandering finger around the waistband, leaning in to murmur the rest almost right into Yata's mouth. "I'm going to need to regenerate some mana."

Another little shiver of anticipation ran all the way through him. "I can help you with that," he responded, closing the distance to bring their lips together and reaching out to run his hands along the lean muscle in front of him. Saruhiko's body was warm, and his lips were cool and soft, and Yata pushed up against both eagerly, caught up in the rush of the fantasy. The familiar slick press of tongue against his went straight to his dick in the form of a pleasant rush of heat.

"Should I," Saruhiko began softly when they parted, and interrupted himself with another insistent kiss, "take it," and another, "from," and his hands smoothed over Yata's back, teasing under the harness, "your body?" When he pulled back and their eyes met, his gaze was smoldering.

That was enough to bring Yata from about half-mast to fully erect. "Hah..." He allowed himself the indulgence of sliding both hands around to the small of Saruhiko's back and pulling him in so that he could feel the hard press answering arousal against his lower belly. The friction felt good, and the little moan he got in response was even better. "Get on your knees, and you can have it."

Saruhiko moved in to lap his tongue out along the corner of Yata's jaw, prompting a shudder and a sharp intake of breath. "I'll be helping myself, then," he murmured, and began planting open-mouthed kisses down Yata's neck and along the line of his collarbone, unhurriedly making his way towards his destination.

At one point, he might've protested the teasing - back before he'd started to properly pay attention and appreciate the slow burn of building pleasure from the touch of fingers, lips, and tongue over his body. The strain and twitch of his cock against the tight fabric of his underwear promised a healthy payoff at the end. "Saruhiko," he breathed out, sliding his hands under the hood of the robe and threading his fingers into that smooth dark hair encouragingly.

"Misaki." The response was mouthed against his chest, hot breath teasing the skin. Saruhiko's tongue flicked around a nipple, and he tightened his fingers instinctively, tipping his head back with a low breath at the little spike of sensation. "Hmm... doesn't seem to be any mana here."

"You need to... hn... go lower..." Yata panted, just about losing his train of thought as slender fingers brushed over the head of his dick, tracing the wet spot on his underwear. His hands twitched with the compulsion to push that tantalizingly hot mouth down, and it was a bit of a struggle to resist the urge to buck his hips forward into the too-gentle touch. "Yeah, there... there..."

"Here, huh?" Saruhiko's fingers closed a little more firmly around him, thumb stroking the head. He planted one last wet kiss on Yata's chest and lowered himself to his knees. "I can take it from you, right, Misaki?" he asked, low and soft, hooded eyes gazing back up full of heat and expectation. "All of your mana..."

That look should've been illegal. Yata managed a smirk, letting his eyes go lidded, and stroked the edges of Saruhiko's temple with his thumbs. "I'll give it you, all right," he shot back, then added in a lower tone, "and you'd better heal me up after, Saru."

The answering smirk sent another wave of heat through him; his anticipation built as Saruhiko carefully pulled the boxer-briefs down under the belts on his hips and over the hard bulge at his crotch. "Don't worry," those wicked lips murmured, brushing against the length of his cock teasingly. "I'll take care of you. Misaki." His hot breath brushed the tip, tongue slipping out for a first teasing touch, and then - ah. There.

Yata didn't even try to bite back the moan that rose up from the back of his throat as Saruhiko's mouth enveloped him; it was seriously just always _that_ good, and he didn't care what he sounded like. His fingers clenched automatically, and he didn't try to loosen up - Saruhiko had said once that he found it kind of exciting, so he'd stopped holding back since then - shakily urging his boyfriend's head forward onto his dick.

Saruhiko made a sort of half-humming, half-purring noise, sending off a pleasant vibration down his length, and Yata groaned in response, bucking against the hands clamped on his hips to hold him in place. He snapped his head forward to watch as Saruhiko's mouth slide down and back over his erection, slick and hot and drowning him in pleasure. The slow, steady rhythmn was just about driving him mad, but it fit the fantasy so well - being held in place while his healer drew mana from him...

Even as he shook with the rush of arousal that came along with that thought, Saruhiko took him in all the way to the hilt, and _sucked_ , as if he really was trying to pull out some mana - and that was enough to push him over the edge, right there. Yata stiffened and cried out, shuddering as he came in Saruhiko's mouth, his trembling hands holding his boyfriend's head in place almost compulsively.

The aftershocks were just fading as Saruhiko pulled back, drawing his tongue out along Yata's over-sensitive dick and prompting one last violent shudder. He licked his lips and smiled faintly, leaning in to kiss the hipbone in front of him lingeringly. "Mm, seems like my bar is full now."

Yata let his fingers slip loose, staring back hazily. His limbs felt like jelly, and the energy had been sucked out of him - literally - but there was more to look forward to, and he felt that now-familiar little thrill of anticipation as he thought about it. "So then you're ready to heal me," he mumbled, managing a lazy smile, "right?"

"That's right." Saruhiko pushed himself up to his feet again, hands still braced on Yata's hips. The prominent bulge against his white boxer-briefs was impossible to ignore; it just heightened the excitement, really, considering what was about to happen. "You can relax and let me do it," he added, soft and slow and sexy as hell, "Misaki."

Yata obligingly backed up as his boyfriend guided him towards the bed, falling back to lay flat as Saruhiko straddled his waist, and sliding his hands eagerly up those slender thighs. "You - You'd better show me some really impressive magic, Saru," he managed, voice low, too caught up to be properly embarrassed, and gazed hotly up into those cool blue eyes.

That little smile was still on Saruhiko's face; framed by the hood, he looked somehow dark and mysterious, a contrast to the white fabric. Behind his glasses, though, his eyes had that soft, oddly fond look that still sent Yata's heartbeat into a frenzy even now, after more than a year of dating. It was an expression that was somehow vulnerable, and Yata stroked his thumbs along the line of his partner's hipbones in response, an odd mix of protectiveness - _I'll take care of you_ \- and pride - _that's a look that's only for me, and no one else_ \- rushing up at the back of his throat and nearly choking him.

It was crazy to think about just how hard he'd fallen for this guy, but there it was.

Then Saruhiko was reaching into the slit at the front of his underwear, parting the tight fabric and releasing his dick from its confines, and Yata's attention was completely diverted. It was kind of erotic to have it poking out like that, fully erect with a bead of pre-come at the tip, and the rest of him hiding almost coyly behind the material. Somehow the sight made his fingers itch, and he pressed them a little more firmly against the skin beneath them to avoid the urge to reach for it.

"Misaki." Saruhiko's voice snapped him out of his thoughts; well, that and the thumb prodding at his lips. Yata took the hint, opening his mouth to take in his boyfriend's fingers, sliding his tongue around them and then out to coat the palm of his hand with spit. Their gazes were locked, and he could've gotten drunk on the obvious want in Saruhiko's eyes - it was that intoxicating.

The hand withdrew, and his focus was drawn again to where it now tucked itself around the erection that still stood out proudly against that stark white underwear, bringing out a slight tremor in Saruhiko's lower body. Yata heard the sharp, controlled intake of breath, but couldn't seem to take his eyes from the sight of Saruhiko's hand moving steadily up and down along the length of his cock, thumb stroking the head with a kind of lazy, indulgent ease and smearing the build-up of moisture around it.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen his boyfriend touch himself, but it _was_ the first time it was truly the center of his focus; right here in his face, almost literally, and he didn't have anything else to do but watch. "Saru..."

"Mm... Misaki..." There was a familiar breathy note to Saruhiko's voice; Yata was able to draw his focus away from the rhythmic motion in front of him and raised his eyes to watch that handsome, flushed face as it responded to the pull of pleasure and lust. Fuck, that look was hot - he'd seen it more times than he could count when he was caught up in the throes of whatever sex they were having at the time, but somehow seeing it now, fully rational as a passive participant, he could catalogue all the details and burn them onto his brain.

Better than the fantasy. His imagination never could've matched it. _I'm so fucking glad I asked for this, holy shit..._

A low moan escaped Saruhiko's lips; his body tensed, face tightening up, and then he jerked in Yata's hold and released, leaning forward just enough to spread the thick white line of his come across Yata's chest. For a moment, he stayed like that, held up by his free hand, panting, eyes closed, body twitching a little as he started to recover himself.

The rush that came with watching it was almost like an orgasm in itself. Yata let out the breath he'd been subconsciously holding, and felt the edges of his mouth turn up as Saruhiko's eyes slid open and met his. "Yeah, so..." It felt like he could pretty well say whatever in this position, with the mess on his chest and his partner in post-orgasm bliss above him. "I think I'm healed up pretty good."

"Hm." Saruhiko smiled faintly; his expression was a uncharacteristically dazed as he stared back down, and it was hard not to notice the way his gaze shifted from Yata's face to his chest. "Misaki," he mumbled, "you look... so..."

"'So'?" Yata prompted, when it didn't seem like he was going to finish that thought; realization struck him belatedly, and he couldn't help but grin. "Saru, don't tell me you just picked up a kink for coming on me."

Saruhiko's eyebrows came down with obvious irritation; he frowned and clicked his tongue, looking away. "Shut up."

"Hah? So I'm right, then." Somehow, this felt like karma. "Hey, if you ask nice, you can hit my face next time. What do you think?"

"I think you need to shut up," was the clipped response, and Yata's answering laugh was swallowed in a swift, embarassed kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request:** Can you write about sarumi's trip to the hot springs after Picking Up The Pieces?
> 
> **Note:** It helps if you read my other fanfic, Picking Up The Pieces, before reading this drabble.

Yata had to admit that when he'd tried to imagine how the evening would go on a trip to a hot springs resort with his boyfriend, it definitely hadn't included half-dragging said boyfriend - who was drunk as fuck and could barely keep himself upright, much less walk - back to their room.

It might've helped if he'd had enough memories back to know that Saruhiko was a huge lightweight and couldn't handle more than half a glass of alcohol.

... Of course, he could've just listened in the first place when Saruhiko said he wasn't drinking, instead of 'forgetting' to mention that the drink he'd ordered him had vodka in it, but that wouldn't have been an issue if he'd had the damn memories, so whatever, not his fault.

"Misaki~" Saruhiko had tilted his head to mumble that into his ear, which probably would've been sexy if it hadn't come with a huge whiff of alcohol breath on his face.

Yata grimaced. _I'm not drunk enough for this, goddamnit._ "What?"

"Where're we goin?" The words came out only slightly slurred, which was an improvement over how he'd been speaking twenty minutes ago (basically just incoherent muttering that may or may not have been an actual human language).

"Back to our room." It was still early - only about 9pm - but he'd spent the last half hour forcing his drunken boyfriend to drink as much water as he could stomach, and he was really hoping there'd be no puking. He figured the sooner he had him safely passed out on the futon in their room, the better.

_What a waste, though._ The outdoor baths were open until 11pm, and it was a really clear night out. They'd already been in once before going for drinks, but hell, it was a vacation, and soaking in a hot spring while watching the stars was sort of romantic, right? If they were lucky, most of the other guests would still be drinking, and the ones who had similar ideas would probably be in the mixed baths, so they might've even got the men's section to themselves.

Also, afterwards, in the room... maybe, sort of... well... he'd read a few manga and stuff, and... it might've been fun to try - try being quiet while...

Yeah, anyway. It wasn't happening now.

"Why?" That almost sounded like Saruhiko's usual drawl, just way more exaggerated and drawn-out. He suddenly squirmed in Yata's hold and planted his feet, almost firmly enough to trip them both up. "We're atta hotsprinnnngs, mm, Misaki? Less go in."

"Hah? No way." Yata made an attempt to drag them forward again, and because Saruhiko kept his feet planted, it caused him to stumble and nearly fall, the arm around his neck now anchoring him to the excess weight that was his boyfriend. "Ow! Goddamnit, Saru, you're drunk - we're not going in the hot spring, okay? Just come on back to the room."

"S'Fiiiine." Saruhiko smiled lazily up from where he was hanging off of Yata - at an awkward angle, too, considering the difference in their heights. He did look a lot more alert than he had before he'd had four glasses of water forced down his throat, but still...

"It's not fucking fine." There were rules about it, right? And it wasn't good for you, was it? Sure, most people ignored that and went in anyway, but they were just _sort of_ drunk, not _unable to walk without help_ drunk. "The way you are right now, you'd probably pass out and drown or something."

"Heeeh." That hazy little smile was still there, blue eyes somehow clearly meeting Yata's behind the glasses perched crookedly on his nose. "Youuu wouldn't let me drowwwwn... right, Mi~sa~ki~?""

He was definitely not slurring as much, but somehow, this was more annoying. Yata scowled back, not bothering to answer that. _Don't fucking tempt me._ "Why would I want to go in the hot spring just to look after you the whole time?"

"But." Saruhiko used Yata's shoulder to lever himself up until he was standing straight - somewhat wobbly and with a hand still braced against his partner, but still. His smile had turned a bit wistful, somehow, and his next words were clear. "You always look after me."

That touched off a nice little rush of emotion, right there. Yata stared back at his boyfriend for a long moment, torn between common sense and a sudden, irrational _want_ , and then finally sighed, resigned. "All right, all right, we'll go to the stupid hot spring."

Saruhiko made a self-satisfied sounding hum, smile widening and eyes narrowing, looking somewhat like a very drunk cat that just got into a whole jug of cream. Yata couldn't help feeling a bit apprehensive at that.

_I'm going to regret this later, aren't I?_

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, though, he didn't.

The walk to the bathing station by the men's bath seemed to sober Saruhiko up to some degree; he was able to remove his own clothing and wash himself, at least, and he was walking on his own despite his obvious lack of focus, so maybe it wasn't so bad. By the time Yata was lowering himself into the water with an appreciative sigh, he was mostly feeling all right about the idea - even a little glad.

He watched through half-slitted eyes as Saruhiko entered the bath in that way-too-overly-careful way that marked him as obviously drunk, ready to jump up and grab him if necessary, but it ended up being fine. His boyfriend settled in beside him - too close, actually, considering this was a public bath - with another of those pleased hums, shutting his eyes.

_Okay, this is actually pretty nice._ Yata tipped his head back, gazing up at the sky as comfortable heat surrounded him. Like he'd thought, it was a clear night and outside of the city, the stars were way more bright. In the silence of the empty outdoor bath, he could hear the chirping noises of various insects, and the air was crisp and cool - a nice contrast to the water.

And then there was Saruhiko, right by his side - the way it was always supposed to be.

... Okay, he wasn't always supposed to be _drunk_ , but still.

"Misaki."

He almost didn't hear his name being called, it was so quiet. Yata tilted his head to the side, but Saruhiko still had his eyes closed, facing forward. His profile was outlined in shadows, highlighted by the faint glow of the safety lights around the edges of the outdoor bath, and somehow even now his expression was unreadable. "What?"

A tiny smile curled at the corners of Saruhiko's mouth. "Nothing."

Yata wasn't entirely sure if that bit of weirdness came from him being drunk or if it was just the usual. "Heh. Okay." He leaned over to bump his shoulder against his boyfriend's, getting a little bit of a kick from the smooth brush of wet naked skin against his. "You're pretty weird, you know that?"

"Mm." Saruhiko still didn't open his eyes or turn his head, but the smile hadn't gone away.

_Wonder if he'll remember this tomorrow._ It was kind of odd to think about it that way, considering how long he'd gone through the reversed situation. A lot more extreme in his case; all Saruhiko would miss out on would be a quiet night in the hot spring, not an entire year of building up a relationship.

_Well, I did get it all back, in the end._ Stronger than before, even - at least, it felt that way.

Fingers curled around his left hand suddenly, jarring him from that thought. Yata jerked a little, snapping his head back to stare at Saruhiko, who looked serenely unaffected. "Oi, Saru! This is a public bath, idiot, don't just - "

"What? We're alone, aren't we?" The words were drawn out to an exaggerated degree; when Saruhiko finally turned his head, opening his eyes to return Yata's stare, his gaze was still hazy-looking. "Isn't it fine?"

"Th-That's not the point!" Seriously, the point was that he was going to have a fucking heart attack; since when did they do public affection? Were they 'out'? They'd never actualy discussed it - at least, not in any of the memories he'd gotten back. His family and most of Homra seemed to know, at least, but that didn't mean... yeah. Fuck. It wasn't like they'd gone out together a whole hell of a lot since he'd recovered. Hell, he couldn't even remember casually holding hands in _private_. He shot an anxious look back towards the entrance to the bathing station. "Anyone could just walk out here and - "

"So what? They won't see." Saruhiko's fingers tightened around his, as if he was afraid Yata would pull away from him. "I want to be closer to you," he mumbled, his tone somewhere between a more familiar annoyance and a kind of petulant discontent. "Who cares about 'anyone'? They don't matter."

_Yeah, except that this is really fucking embarrassing!_ Yata could feel his cheeks burning, but he couldn't think of a good way to respond to that. Had he just been okay with this before? Somehow, he got the feeling it was a non-issue most of the time, and Saruhiko being drunk had awoken some kind of weird, clingy alternate personality. He wasn't sure if he'd even be able to handle this in a private place, much less a spot where just anyone could walk in on them.

Saruhiko's mouth edged up into another odd little smile; his eyes went lidded. "You're blushing," he pointed out, as if he was making the winning point of an argument, and leaned into Yata's personal space even more. "Mi~sa~ki~"

"Sh-Shut up, idiot!" As flustered as he was, though, somehow the idea of pulling away and putting some distance between them was even less appealing. Saruhiko was open and relaxed and affectionate, and... shit. Normally, even when they were alone, Yata still sometimes felt like his boyfriend kept up a few barriors.

As inconvenient and embarrassing as this was, some hungry, insistent part of him just... wanted more.

"I won't." Saruhiko's face tipped in close to his, and Yata found himself shutting his eyes involuntarily, not even minding the scent of alcohol so much as their lips brushed. It was soft and brief, an echo of the very first time Saruhiko had ever kissed him - and it might as well have been, the way his heart was pounding away against his chest.

It just about stopped beating altogether in the next second, though, because Saruhiko pulled back, looked him straight in the eye, and with perfect, unsmiling seriousness, mumbled out, "I love you, Misaki."

For an impossibly long moment, everything seemed to freeze.

The heat from the water was getting to him, Yata decided vaguely. Maybe he'd had one too many drinks himself. But that stupid, impossible sentence was ringing around and around in his head, in Saruhiko's voice - _I love you, Misaki_ \- _I love you, Misaki_ \- _I love you, Misaki_ \- like some fucking recording playing on repeat. Like it was real. Like he'd really heard it. Like Saruhiko had really said it.

Saruhiko. Had really. Said... it...

The world spun back into focus, clarity smacking him in the face. Yata let out the breath he'd been involuntarily holding, and blinked several times in rapid succession. "What," he croaked, and had to clear his throat, trying again. "What did you just - ?"

"Misaki." That voice didn't sound soft, or relaxed. In fact, it sounded sick. And, now that he was really looking, he could see that Saruhiko's face had started to turn a little grey. "I think I'm going to - "

"AH!" That was enough to spring him into action; Yata leapt off of his seat, grabbing his boyfriend's arm hastily and looping his own arm under him to lift him out of the water. "Fuck! Get up, idiot, come on!"

About five seconds and an impressive amount of swearing later, Saruhiko was hunched miserably over by the neatly trimmed bushes, emptying pretty much everything that had been in his stomach while Yata awkwardly rubbed his back.

At least they'd managed to make it out of the water...

_He... really said it, right? I wasn't just hearing things._ He could still hear the words in his head, clear as day, and even thinking about it made his face burn. _At a time like this..._

Honestly, he wasn't sure if he was elated or furious.

"You bastard," he muttered, under his breath. "Say it to me when you're fucking sober."

Saruhiko's heaving had subsided; he glanced back over his shoulder with tired, glazed-looking eyes. "... what?"

"Never mind." Yata let out an aggrieved sigh, then offered his boyfriend a rueful smile. "Let's just go back to our room."

If there was any justice in this world, the hangover tomorrow would be terrible.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request:** Could you write some of the scenes from picking up the pieces from Saruhiko's point of view? Like when Yata wakes up, or the times he just leaves in the middle of their conversation? Or when Yata remembers again? I really wanna know what was going through his head. Thanks so much  <3
> 
> **Note:** It helps if you read my other fanfic, Picking Up The Pieces, before reading this drabble.

Looking back over the events from that afternoon, Fushimi couldn't help but think that everything was so contrived. It played out like a bad drama, predictible in the way it hit a twist. He would've made a comment if it were something on the TV - some derogatory remark that would make Misaki snort and agree - and they'd change the channel, leaving the hapless characters to their fate.

Couple argues, cue drama. Tragedy strikes, cue shock.

So contrived.

Somehow, staring down at Misaki's body in the hospital bed, with the bandages on his head and the IV on his wrist and his entire being seeming shrunken down into something smaller than he'd ever been in Fushimi's eyes, it hadn't felt predictible or stupid.

It felt real. Like the moment of impact after a fall.

Or, better, waking up from a dream. In this case, the dream of whatever their life had turned into - that comfortable domesticity in the apartment where they'd been gradually building a home. Talking casually with Misaki, arguing with Misaki, touching Misaki, _being with_ Misaki - that felt unreal. It was a fantasy, built on airy, whimsical things like dreams and feelings and happiness.

Fushimi had never been good at seeking out or accepting happiness. It was too painful when it was ripped from your grasp.

Maybe that was why the phone call from the emergency room felt real - solid. Awashima driving him to the hospital was stark and clear, the paperwork and admittance rules were tangible things, and seeing Misaki laid out battered and unconscious on the bed seemed grounded in reality.

Awashima was the one who called Kusanagi, which Fushimi found out later. He'd been in the middle of the painfully awkward phone call with Misaki's mother, and hadn't noticed at the time.

That was another thing that stood out with surprising clarity: Misaki's mother's voice on the phone. By the end of the call, she'd been teary and a bit frantic, promising him that they'd be there as fast as possible, as if he'd needed the reassurance. His own voice had sounded dull and level, somehow, lacking any of the emotion in hers, so he couldn't think why she'd get that impression. It didn't particularly matter, though.

Essentially, the only thing that mattered was laid out on the hospital bed, condition stable (so he'd been told) but in that nebulous state of will-he-or-won't-he regarding the possibility of slipping from badly concussed to a full-on coma.

_How am I supposed to feel about that?_

Really, all he could manage at that moment was something that felt a lot like 'empty'.

Misaki was laid out flat on the bed, in an unnaturally stiff sort of pose that looked nothing like the way he would normally sleep. Fushimi indulged the sudden urge to pick up the hand closest to him - the right - turning it over slowly and running his fingers along the callouses. Somehow, Misaki's hand was still warm, brimming with life as always.

Exactly the way he currently wasn't.

"Sorry to interrupt," Kusanagi said apologetically, from the end of the bed, and Fushimi put Misaki's hand back down. Not because he particularly cared what anyone thought of their unusual relationship - there weren't all that many people whose opinions would've made a difference in his life, one way or the other - but because it felt awkward, and he didn't like the idea of his feelings, whatever they were, being on display.

"It's fine," was all he answered with. That dull, uninspired tone. Maybe it looked like he didn't care.

_What does it even matter what it looks like?_

"The doctor would like to speak with you at some point." Kusanagi's voice was unusually hushed. There was a kind of weary, almost resigned sadness in his eyes - the look of someone who'd seen loss and still prepared himself for it, Fushimi thought. Maybe. It wasn't as though he was good at identifying other people's emotions, but it seemed to make sense. "When you're feeling up to it, that is."

'When you're feeling up to it'. What did that even mean? And wasn't it better to get the unpleasant things out of the way quickly? Fushimi clicked his tongue, without much feeling. "What does he want?"

Kusanagi paused before answering. "It's about the... long-term possibilities," he answered, with obvious care. "I think maybe it's too early to be considering it, but I guess they prefer to bring it up sooner rather than later."

Long-term possibilities.

Somehow, that hit against a compartment in his head that had been holding in all of the things he wasn't quite feeling. Fushimi turned back to where Misaki lay on the bed, his chest rising and falling steadily, eyes shut, unresponsive and unreachable. The reality of his own helplessness against this huge potential turning point in his life struck him, and his throat seemed to swell up, all the emptiness from before filling with unpleasant emotions. Desperation. Grief. Fear.

Despair.

He barely felt Kusanagi's hand on his shoulder. "Don't lose hope," the older man told him, before turning again to leave the room.

What the hell was hope, though? Fushimi would've sneered at that, if he'd felt up to it. It was the thing someone dangled in front of you before snatching whatever you wanted away just before you could've had it in your hands. It was a trick - a lie.

In reality, there was no such thing as 'hope'.

 

* * *

 

He wasn't entirely sure how long he'd been there when Misaki woke up the first time. It felt like an eternity, but practicality suggested it was more likely a matter of hours.

Awashima had come and gone with the change of clothes he kept at his desk, and his work uniform was now sitting in a bag under his chair. She'd also brought a charging cable for his PDA, which apparently was a 'spare' (he couldn't shake the suspicion that she'd gone out and bought one for him, but she'd never admit it if she had, so he didn't bother asking), and a boxed meal from the store that was a block down.

"The captain asked me to pass on his best wishes," she'd added, crisp and serious as always, and her eyes drifted to the bed very briefly before she went on. "You can feel free to take as much leave as you need, of course. And... if there's anything we can do..."

He might've scoffed at that thought, if he'd had the energy for it. _What could you possibly do about this?_ "It's fine," he said instead, toneless.

There was an undercurrent of sympathy in her gaze that made him wish she'd just leave already. "Well, please keep us informed, anyway." As she turned to go, though, she shot him a parting glance over her shoulder. "And - Fushimi."

"What?"

She turned her face forward again. "Take care of yourself." Her brisk step carried her out through the door and off down the hall.

It didn't do much for the persistent feeling of helplessness, but somehow the room felt less oppressive after she'd left.

He'd been trying to spend his time working on some personal projects on his PDA, but it was almost impossible to stay focussed, so he hadn't made much progress. More often than not he'd catch himself staring at Misaki's face while his thoughts wandered.

_What am I even doing?_ Fushimi lowered the PDA, letting out a low breath, and tilted his head so that it rested on the back of the chair, staring dully at the ceiling. _How long can he stay asleep like this before they categorize it as a coma?_

Not knowing only made it worse.

A sudden sharp intake of breath from the bed tore him out of that mental spiral; when he looked up, Misaki's face was scrunched up as if in pain.

For a moment, Fushimi just stared, skin prickling, every nerve ending on edge, in case this was some sort of sleep-deprived illusion. He managed to venture a tense, quiet, "Misaki?"

Somehow - impossibly - Misaki's eyes slid open again. They were unfocussed and glassy, and he blinked slowly several times as if to try and clear them, looking befuddled and disoriented.

But he was _awake_.

"Saru?" he whispered after a second or two, sounding lost.

Something clenched painfully in Fushimi's chest; he reached out to take Misaki's hand in his - still so warm; he was always warm, while Fushimi was cold. "I'm sorry," he half-mumbled, not really thinking about what he was saying but driven by a powerful urge to get the words out. "I didn't really mean it." He actually hadn't; he was irritated, and lashing out at Misaki - hurting him - was too easy, the path too frequently used. "Misaki. I don't - " It was difficult to say; he swallowed, shut his eyes, and went on anyway. "I don't know what to do. Please." He squeezed that hand in his, feeling desperate. "You have to stay awake."

When he looked up again, though, Misaki had already drifted off back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

By the time Kusanagi arrived, bright and early the next morning - although 'night' and 'morning' had started to blend into one long stretch of unbroken time in Fushimi's mind - Misaki had been re-examined and moved to a different hospital room. He wasn't certain about the reasons - it had to be something to do with the fact that he'd woken up once - but it didn't matter as long as he still had his uncomfortable chair beside the bed, keeping an eye on Misaki's face for any signs that he'd wake up again.

He wasn't sure if he'd even been properly heard last time, but Misaki had said his name, so he'd at least known that Fushimi was there.

"Do you know how long it'll take Yata's family to get here?" Kusanagi asked him, after looking at his face for just a moment too long to be comfortable.

Fushimi shrugged. He'd gotten out of the chair - mainly to work out the kinks in his stiff limbs - when the older man had come into the room, so they were standing at the foot of Misaki's bed. "I don't remember where they went."

"Ah. Well." There was a brief pause, and then Kusanagi said, carefully, "I can stay with him, if you want to go home and get some sleep. You look like you could use it."

He was already shaking his head before the offer was finished. The idea of leaving and possibly having Misaki wake up while he was lying at home in a bed meant for two by himself was so unappealing that he didn't even want to consider it. "No thanks."

"I thought you might say that." Kusanagi shook his head, smiling a bit ruefully. "I spoke with the doctor before coming in, though, and the fact that - " He glanced over a the bed, almost idly, and then froze. "Yata?"

Fushimi didn't even pause to verify. His nerves were on high alert after the last time, and he couldn't bring himself to care about anyone looking in - not now. He strode back around the bed and hastily took up Misaki's hand, meeting that confused gaze with a relief so strong he could've cried. "Misaki," he breathed.

He was awake - _properly_ awake, this time.

It felt like being back in a dream, but if that was the case, he wanted to stay. Misaki was awake. Misake was _awake_.

"What... truck... hit me?"

And that was such a typical thing for him to say that Fushimi responded without thinking. "A bus, actually."

Misaki stared at him. "... eh?"

"Yata," Kusanagi interjected - Fushimi had very nearly forgotten that he was even there - looking typically concerned, "Don't worry about remembering the details. You still need to rest."

"Oh..." Misaki's bewildered gaze slid from Kusanagi back to Fushimi, and then he frowned, brows furrowing a bit as he stared down at the hand still holding his. Like he wasn't quite sure why it was there.

Somehow, that expression touched off an ominous feeling at the pit of Fushimi's stomach.

"I can give Seri an update," Kusanagi offered; when Fushimi looked up, he offered a small, reassuring smile, pulling his PDA out of his pocket. "You should stay with him until he falls asleep, at least."

He didn't really get a chance to respond to that, because Misaki visibly tensed, his eyes sliding away from Fushimi again to fix on Kusanagi with a kind of desperate confusion. "Wait..." he croaked out, "Kusanagi."

Fushimi could feel his heart racing against his chest. _Why are you calling for someone else?_ That ominous feeling was growing, hollowing out a cavity inside him again. _I'm here. I'm right here, Misaki. Why...?_

Typically enough, Kusanagi just smiled back, calm as ever. "What is it, Yata?"

Misaki was still staring back at him, not sparing Fushimi a glance, his expression lost and tired. "I.. don't..." he stammered, and then seemed to focus again. "What happened to the strain?"

"Strain?" Kusanagi repeated, before Fushimi could comment - if he was even sure what to comment with.

"The... the guy. With the... the thing." There was kind of a desperate edge to that babbling; Misaki's brow had furrowed even more. "Is - Is Kamamoto all right?"

_Kamamoto?_ It didn't register right away why that was wrong, but Kusanagi tensed up, his eyes suddenly sharp. "Kamamoto has been out of town for the past week."

Ah.

Something was wrong with Misaki, then - whatever had knocked him out had also done something to his brain. Fushimi tightened his hold on Misaki's hand, the strain from his sleepless night already seeping back in. He tried to draw out what little he knew about head injuries and what the side effects could be from the back of his head, eyes still locked on that bewildered face. Brain damage? Dementia? Memory lo -

"That can't be right." Misaki's voice had gone quiet - uncertain. "No - we were fighting a strain together. He was trying to hijack a subway car."

Memory loss.

It was suddenly difficult to breathe. Fushimi sucked in a sharp mouthful of air, struggling to keep his thoughts in order. The infamous incident in the subway car - Misaki's concussion - the ambush - the drug - meeting outside of Scepter 4 headquarters... The event that everything about their current relationship had snowballed from.

Kusanagi's voice said, very carefully, "Yata... The hijacking happened almost a year ago."

And it was the last thing Misaki remembered. The _last_ thing.

He was coming out of the dream again - falling towards the ground at an impossible speed. Fushimi listened to Misaki and Kusanagi talking about the concussion, only really registering it when Misaki let out a little gasp as he tried to shake his head too quickly, obviously aggravating the injury.

"Misaki." His voice came out sharp, but he couldn't help that. He tightened his hold again on that hand; somehow, it felt like it would be tugged from his grasp if he didn't keep a good grip on it. "You need to stop. This isn't helping."

_You need to remember. What am I supposed to do if you don't?_

Everything that happened between them had been Misaki pushing for it - Misaki reaching for him - Misaki somehow finding the exact right things to say and do. All of the things that Fushimi couldn't do. Where was he supposed to start? How could he fix this?

If he reached out the wrong way... if he messed it up... if Misaki slapped his hand away...

That thought was like an icy fist closing around his heart. _No._ Above all else, he couldn't face Misaki's rejection. He would throw away everything they had, first. He'd burn it, like he had before.

In front of him, Misaki had closed his eyes, breathing erratic, obviously still processing the shock. "I'll call the nurse," Kusanagi said, and then hesitated. "Yata, just try to take it easy for now, okay? Plenty of time for questions when you're feeling better."

Fushimi watched him press the call button, feeling bleak, and then turned his eyes back to Misaki's face. His breathing had evened out, and his expression was neutral again, slack with sleep. "I'll go home," he said, and the toneless sound of his own voice was the last trigger to surround him with clear, unpleasant reality again.

The dream was over.

"Are you sure?" Kusanagi was studying him with some sympathy - the same look he'd seen on Awashima earlier. It was repugnant, really. "I can't say it's a bad idea, but if Yata wakes up again..."

"It's fine." It would be fine. Somehow. Fushimi set Misaki's hand back down on the bed again, rising from the bedside chair slowly. _He'd probably rather see you right now, anyway._

That thought hurt more than it should've.

"I'll let you know if anything happens, then." Kusanagi didn't move, and Fushimi was aware of the eyes on him as he gathered his things. "Try to get some rest, okay?"

He didn't bother to answer that.

It was his own fault, in the end. Fushimi clenched his teeth together, striding briskly out into the hallway. 'Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...'

This marked the second time in his life that he'd tricked himself into thinking that Yata Misaki could be something permanent in a world that only had temporary things.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request:** Could you write an attack on Titan AU sarumi fic?
> 
> **For those who have seen Attack on Titan:** this is not meant to imitate a specific scene, but it is kind of loosely based on the last few episodes of the anime. I threw a couple of characters into specific roles that match up to the series, mainly so that dialogue and thoughts could flow better, but this drabble doesn't really fit into the actual story of AoT.
> 
> **For those who haven't seen Attack on Titan:** I spoil a major plot point that turns up in the first half of the anime (episode 8, I think), so if you're planning to watch, maybe steer clear of this drabble. Also, if you know nothing about AoT, this will probably be kind of hard to follow.

"Why do you think we're stationed here?"

Yata frowned, raising an eyebrow at his partner. 'Here' was a nondescript section of the capitol city behind Wall Sina, wearing plain clothing over their 3D maneuver gear, and just in general trying to act like citizens who happened to be hanging out - while waiting for the signal that would indicate an enemy might be heading their way.

An enemy like Shiro, who could change into a titan at will - and instead of using that power to help humanity, was actively working to end it while going around pretending to be just like everyone else.

The very idea was so enraging that it seemed to burn inside him. _Whoever the fuck this asshole is, we're going to get them. Mikoto-san will totally kick their ass once this plan works!_

Granted, he didn't know all the details of the plan, but if Mikoto-san said to wait for a signal and then jump into action, he'd trust that just like always. For the months he'd been risking his life in the Survey Corps, that course of action hadn't failed him yet.

Well, that and he had Saruhiko to watch his back, always.

Right now, though, he couldn't think why his partner - always partners, ever since their cadet days - would be asking that question. "That's obvious, isn't it? Mikoto-san needs us here in case the enemy comes this way."

"Mikoto-san, huh?" Saruhiko wasn't looking at him; his gaze was on the rooftop above them, and even his tone of voice sounded more like he was musing out loud than actually having a conversation. "This isn't his plan, though. It's the Commander's. And the fact that we haven't been given the details is pretty telling - wouldn't you say?"

Yata furrowed his brows, trying to turn that one over in his head. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it." There wasn't even a trace of tension or readiness in Saruhiko's posture; he was relaxed, leaning against the wall behind him, as if this really was just the two of them hanging out rather than another life-or-death mission. His expression was kind of absently thoughtful, but there was something in it that Yata couldn't place - something he'd seen more of lately, and it made him uneasy but he couldn't quite grasp why. It was almost like he'd given up on something, but not quite. "If you're laying out a trap for an enemy you haven't identified, you wouldn't want to give out any hints to someone who might _be_ that enemy, would you?"

It took him a moment to piece that one together, but when he did, the rush of outrage was almost immediate. "What are you saying?" That couldn't be what he really thought, could it? "There's no way Mikoto-san thinks that we're the enemy!"

"I didn't say it was us, necessarily." Saruhiko didn't seem to mind his indignation; he didn't even shift his gaze from where it rested above them. "I'm saying they don't know who it is, so they're not sharing their plans with anyone they don't need to. Honestly." At that, he actually did smile, shutting his eyes for a moment with a kind of sardonic amusement. "Would you trust yourself with a secret, Misaki? You couldn't keep it if your life depended on it."

Yata's eyebrow twitched at that. He couldn't exactly _deny_ it... but it was kind of unfair to point it out straight up like that, wasn't it? "Don't call me that in public," he muttered, instead of answering.

"Yeah, yeah." The complaint was brushed aside; when Saruhiko opened his eyes again, he did actually shift his gaze, pushing himself away from the wall and turning that strange little smile on Yata. "I want to show you something."

Somehow, that expression made him uncomfortable, and he wasn't sure if the feeling stirring inside him in response was wistfulness or that same weird sense of unease from before. "We're supposed to be watching for a signal."

"We can still watch for it. It's not that far." Saruhiko had already turned and started walking, as if it was just a matter of course that Yata would follow. Maybe, at one point in their lives, it had been. "But if you don't want to see..."

When he put it that way... Yata jogged to catch up with him, making sure to keep an eye out as he did. The signal would be hard to miss, and as long as they were near buildings, there'd be plenty of space to manuever. "Fine, but this better be good. And it won't take long, right?"

"Probably not." Saruhiko shrugged, as if it didn't particularly matter one way or another. "I think."

The rest of the walk was quiet - Yata somehow couldn't think of a way to strike up a conversation. Back when they were cadets, they'd talked just about every night before bed about random things, and more during the day between training and over meals, but it had been a while since they'd been cadets. And lately it seemed like most conversations - when they actually had conversations, which was getting more rare as time went on - were about missions, and Saruhiko often didn't even hold up his end of the discussion.

_It's kind of like he's not even really around any more._

It was a weird feeling to realize that you missed the person standing right next to you, but there it was.

_When this is over, we should see if we can get some leave._ It had been a while, but they did sometimes have lulls when they were back in the city. Even just a single day would be fine. They could spend some time together and talk about random things, like before. Maybe he could even ask Saruhiko why he sometimes made those strange expressions. He probably wouldn't get a straight answer, but it was worth a try.

With the way so many comrades fell in and out of his life in the quickest and most devastating ways, he couldn't afford to let an important one slip away quietly.

"Here we are," Saruhiko said suddenly, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Yata looked around, and felt his brows furrow again. "'Here'... Isn't this just a sewer entrance?"

Saruhiko shrugged again, turning to face him with that little smile again. "I didn't say I wanted to show you a _place_. This is just a convenient location."

_What the hell?_ Yata scowled. "You're being really weird today."

"Am I? Ah, I guess I am." Saruhiko took a small step toward him, close enough to be further inside Yata's personal space than he'd bothered to venture before. "Does it bother you, Misaki?"

Somehow, the new position was nerve-wracking, but the fluttering feeling in his stomach wasn't... totally bad. Yata could feel his face grow hot for some odd reason, and had to look away from that pale, handsome face that was now so close to his own, embarrassed and a bit flustered. "Wh-What?"

"Well, I guess it would, wouldn't it?" Saruhiko reached out and brushed a knuckle lightly along Yata's cheekbone, startling him enough to bring his gaze back up. "But I'm not really sorry." He leaned in.

He could probably dodge it if he wanted to. That thought went through Yata's head very briefly, somewhere outside the shock that froze him solid. Saruhiko wasn't holding him down, and there was enough space and time to easily move away if he didn't want this. But somehow, with the way his heart was pounding - the way his world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them in that moment, despite everything else - he couldn't shake the thought that maybe... maybe... he did kind of want this.

_Saruhiko..._ Without really thinking about it much, Yata let his eyes slide shut, allowing himself to feel that first moment of contact clearly.

The kiss was brief and light, a quick press of Saruhiko's mouth on his, but his lips tingled when it was over. Feeling a little self-conscious about it, Yata ran his tongue over them as he opened his eyes to stare wonderingly at his partner.

For some reason, they tasted a little funny, but that wasn't his biggest concern at the moment. "Sa... Saru, I - "

"I didn't actually expect it to be that easy," Saruhiko murmured, interrupting him. When their eyes met, he smiled again - a painful, self-mocking smile. "You're going to make me almost regret this, Misaki."

"'Regret'...?" Yata blinked, still kind of bemused from being kissed out of nowhere by his closest friend, and then swayed a little, feeling his knees start to tremble for no good reason. "Wha...?"

"That's right." Saruhiko reached out with uncannily perfect timing to catch him as his legs buckled underneath him. His tone had shifted from that kind of idle musing one to something just short of manic. "I did say 'almost', though, didn't I?" When Yata struggled to look up at him, vision blurring out, he could only see the insane grin spreading on his partner's face.

_What... What is he...?_ His tongue felt about as limp and useless as the rest of his body; he could only manage a grunt.

"Watch me, Misaki," Saruhiko breathed out, sounding so unlike his usual self - so crazy and almost ecstatic - that Yata was nearly convinced that he was dreaming - this was a nightmare, for sure, and that was why the world seemed to swim around him as he was dragged off towards the sewer entrance. "Watch what I become, and don't look away."

Only when he was finally fading out, stowed away underground with a dim vision of the familiar figure standing just outside of the sewer, did he see the telltale flash and hear the crackle of a titan transformation. And he knew it wasn't a nightmare, after all.

It was hell.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request:** can you write a drabble about Misaki doing ~the boyfriend shirt~? (wearing Saruhiko's shirt with nothing else 8D)
> 
> **Note:** One thing I noticed while writing this drabble and hunting through the official art for a shirt of Fushimi's that would actually have the "boyfriend shirt" effect on Yata is that, while Yata wears some loose clothing (which has the added effect of making him look smaller - well done, Yata), Fushimi seems to prefer clothing that fits him. Also, aside from the height difference, they're probably not all that far apart in terms of size. So... there's possibly a bit of exaggeration here.
> 
> Also, I apologize again for being unable to take anything seriously. All of you should know this about me by now, though.

There was an insistent knocking sound nearby.

That was the first thing that penetrated the haze around Yata's brain. After he'd started drifting towards wakefulness, though, a few more things started to stand out. The weight and resulting uncomfortable tingly feeling on his left arm. The steady sound of breathing from beside him. The stiff discomfort of a standard-issue dormitory bunk bed beneath him. The dryness of his mouth, and the faint echo of some funky taste.

The ominous pounding at his temples - almost in rhythm with the knocking sound.

_Fuck._ Okay, yeah, his situation was starting to piece together. Yata cracked an eye open and the now-familiar sight of Saruhiko's sleeping face shifted into focus on the pillow beside his. They were squished in together on the top bunk at the Scepter 4 dormitory room - a place he'd only spent the night once before - with Saruhiko's arm slung over his chest and both of them naked and grimy from... activities he could vaguely recall now.

Yata felt his face grow hot at the memory. It seemed like no matter how many times they did it, he still got embarrassed thinking about that kind of stuff. It was stupid, but... whatever, it couldn't be helped. And last night had been particularly intense, both of them drunk and desperate, shedding clothes carelessly as they rubbed up against each other, breathless panting and moaning filling the air and hands all over the place, clutching and stroking...

_Right. Okay. Anyway..._ Thinking about it was really not helping. Yata shifted a bit, wondering if he could slide his arm out from under his sleeping boyfriend without waking him.

Probably not, but it was worth a try...

The knocking sound came again, and he instinctively froze. "Fushimi-san?" a voice called out, muffled.

_Shit!_

Saruhiko stirred beside him, let out a small sigh, and then lazily cracked his eyes open. "Mm?" He squinted at Yata for a second, and then reached up toward the headboard, fumbling for his glasses.

"Fushimi-san?" The knocking came again, a bit louder.

Yata's skin prickled. _What the fuck does that guy want?_

Saruhiko let out a weary, frustrated sigh, pushing himself up. "Coming!" he called back, voice still carrying hints of grogginess and laced with unmasked irritability.

"Oi!" Yata grabbed his arm before he could move further, trying to keep his own voice low. No one had seemed to care the last time he was here, but it wasn't like they had to fucking _advertise_ what they were doing, either. "You can't let that guy in right now!"

"Why would I let him in?" Saruhiko frowned at him, not bothering to tug his arm free. "I'm just going to see what he wants. Anyway, move - you're in my way."

Yata didn't budge, scowling back as if there wasn't a hot flush climbing up his face. "What if he fucking sees me, asshole? You want everyone to know we - we - you know - in here?"

Saruhiko blinked at him for a second and then clicked his tongue, raising a condescending eyebrow. "You think there's anyone who doesn't know? Don't be an idiot."

"Th-that's..." Okay, yeah, it was probably true but... "That's different, okay? There's a difference between everyone _knowing_ and someone actually fucking _seeing_ it!"

"Well, they've probably already heard it, with how loud you are." Saruhiko frowned back at him, unimpressed. "Move."

"H-Hah?" Yata sputtered for a moment, feeling his face grow even hotter. "Don't act like it's all just me! Y-You're loud, too, you know!" Although if he was being honest... _Fuck. Whatever._ "And it's still not the same, goddamnit!"

Saruhiko clicked his tongue again, looking thoroughly annoyed now. "This is pointless. Stay there, then." He abruptly pushed the covers aside, depositing them in Yata's lap with a kind of spiteful efficiency, and then shifted to climb over Yata's legs.

"O-Oi!" For a moment, the move caught him off-guard; the sight of his boyfriend's lean, naked form turning to climb down the ladder with about as much dignity as he could maintain in the situation had Yata staring after him, a little stunned.

It was only a moment, though, because he was struck by the sudden awareness that he was sitting there in plain sight of the door on Saruhiko's bed, _completely naked_ except for the damn blanket. It'd look like one of those stupid movies where the girl hid under the covers while her lover answered the door.

_No fucking way!_ Yata shoved the covers violently off of him and ignored the ladder in favor of just jumping down from the bed.

At the very least, he was going to be dressed in _something_. There was his pride to think about, after all.

One problem, though... "Where the fuck are my clothes?"

"How should I know?" Saruhiko muttered, from the base of the ladder. He was squinting at the room with obvious displeasure, probably feeling some of the aftereffects of the drinks they'd had at that celebration the night before. He clicked his tongue again, and headed for the small basket of his clean clothing. "It doesn't matter right now."

"How does it _not fucking matter_ , you - !" Yata glared at him incredulously. "What the fuck am I supposed to wear?"

"No idea." Saruhiko ignored him in favor of pulling a pair of boxers and a T-shirt from the basket. "Figure it out yourself."

After maybe a second of glowering helplessly at his boyfriend's back, Yata spat out a heartfelt, "fuck!" and turned to the basket. "You asshole."

"Mmhm." Having dressed himself, Saruhiko was already moving towards the door.

_Goddamnit..._ Yata had just enough time to hastily grab a sweater from the basket, pull it frantically over his head, and then flatten himself against the wall where - hopefully - whoever was at the door couldn't see him.

"What is it?" he heard Saruhiko ask crossly, almost at the same moment as the door was pulled open. "I'm not working today."

"Uh, right - sorry to bother you so early, Fushimi-san," the person on the other side responded. The voice sounded familiar, but Yata wasn't exactly close enough with Saruhiko's co-workers to be able to tell who it was without looking. "Just... um... your clothing..."

"What about it?"

"Well..."

From his vantage point, Yata was only able to see Saruhiko move to lean out of the doorway; whatever he might've been looking at was still out of sight. He could hear the muffled click of his boyfriend's tongue. "And this couldn't have waited until later?"

"Ah, right... I just wasn't sure if you'd want to know right away - and there were a few complaints..."

"Mm." Saruhiko backed into the room again, sounding completely indifferent to whatever 'complaints' there might have been. "I'll deal with it. Was there anything else?"

"Um... no, but - "

The door was quite firmly - and rudely - closed. Yata was starting to sag back against the wall, relieved to have the whole ordeal over with, when Saruhiko turned to face him. "Misaki, you're going to need to - " He stopped. Blinked.

Yata was suddenly aware of the loose fabric of Saruhiko's sweater sleeves drooping down over the knuckles on his hands. The hem of the shirt hung low, well past his hips - an unavoidable reminder of those _eleven goddamn centimeters_ between them. His cheeks burned, and he scowled back, irritated with his own embarrassment. "What?" he demanded, crossly.

Saruhiko's mouth contorted; he abruptly brought up a hand and turned his face halfway to the side, letting out a muffled snort. His shoulders shook.

A little of the annoyance softened at that. Yata stared dumbly for a few seconds, caught between surprise and his earlier frustration. It wasn't often that he got to see Saruhiko genuinely laugh, even after everything had been fixed between them, so it was hard not to want to savor the moment. In fact, watching his boyfriend try to collect himself, he could almost forget that the laughter was at his expense.

Almost. "It's not that funny, damnit!"

"Whatever you say." Saruhiko straightened, apparently having gained control of himself again. There was unrestrained amusement in his voice, and the corners of his mouth twitched when he turned to look at Yata again. "You know, most people would put on pants with that."

Yata glowered back at him, hands curling into fists at his sides. "You didn't give me a fucking chance, you asshole!"

That infuriating little smirk on Saruhiko's face didn't so much as budge. "Well, you can go pick up your clothing from the hallway like that if you want."

"Huh?" Yata blinked, then narrowed his eyes. "Why the hell is my clothing in the hallway?"

"Who knows." Saruhiko's expression was openly condescending. "I guess you don't remember much from last night, do you, Misaki?"

A vivid impression of fumbling for a door handle while trying not to disengage from a sloppy, insistent kiss or get too distracted by the feel of hands on his _conspicuously naked skin_ rudely pushed its way to the front of his mind, and Yata jerked, staring at his boyfriend in growing horror. "You - I - we - w-w-we fucking - "

He couldn't manage to finish it. His face suddenly felt like a furnace. _Anybody could have just walked by and seen!_ What the hell had he been thinking?

"Anyway, the fact that you made a mess in the hallway is why we got an unpleasant early-morning wake-up call," Saruhiko continued, deliberately ignoring his embarrassment. "So you might say this is actually your own fau - "

"Shut up," Yata ground out, clenching his hands into fists again and raising his eyes to glare. _Remind me again why I date this fuckhead._ "As if you had nothing to do with it, bastard!" Another thought struck him then. "Oi... I didn't see any of _your_ clothes from last night, either..."

The remains of that maddeningly self-assured expression faltered; Saruhiko clicked his tongue, abruptly looking away.

"Heeeh." Somehow, this felt like it restored a little of his pride. Yata didn't bother to hold back the smirk spreading on his face. It was starting to piece together in his head now, too - the feeling of Saruhiko's skin against his as they drunkenly fumbled to get through the door. "What's that you were saying? It's all my fault? What's your clothing doing out in the hallway, then, huh, _Saru_?"

"Shut up," Saruhiko muttered at him, looking thoroughly disgruntled now. The faintest hint of a blush was rising on his face.

That was kind of appealing. _I guess that's part of the reason I date you, huh?_ Yata allowed himself a small, amused huff and pushed away from the wall, meeting Saruhiko's wary gaze as he wandered over and then stretching up to plant a kiss on his boyfriend's warm cheek. "Well, I'll pick up my mess if you pick up yours," he murmured, lingering just a bit to get the most out of the brief contact.

Saruhiko's eyes softened just a bit - that tiny little shift that Yata probably would've missed if he didn't watch carefully for it, but which never failed to stir up a little knot of warmth in his belly. _Maybe that's the rest of the reason..._

He had just a brief second to enjoy it before Saruhiko lowered his gaze, running his eyes slowly down along Yata's torso, and then raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You might want to put on pants first."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request:** OW YISS REQUEST!! CAN I?? PLEASE?? can you make like, regular misaki and genderbend saruhiko being cutie couple. misaki is cute when around girls. just couldn't imagine how he will react around his girl(best)friend ^_^

 

Yata was starting to think his initial plan had a flaw.

That flaw was Saruhiko. His former best friend, former worst enemy, current... something; he wasn't quite sure about that part, and it made him a little nervous so he didn't think about it too much. To be honest, the 'worst enemy' bit was sounding about right again.

"How the fuck," he started, still staring at the charred bottom of his rice cooker with agitated disbelief, "did you manage to screw up making _rice_? The machine does all the work!"

"Obviously not all of it," Saruhiko responded in that irritating drawl, staring deliberately off to the side as if the conversation bored her.

Yata scowled at her. "I left you alone in my kitchen for less than a goddamn hour, and I come back to this! How's that even possible? What the hell did you _do_?"

She didn't even look up, but he noticed the corners of her mouth turn down just the slightest bit more, as if in irritation. "Nothing much."

"Nothi - " He couldn't even finish repeating it. Yata turned away, trying to swallow his frustration. "Fuck."

The groceries he'd gone to pick up - small things he'd thought would make good additions to what was supposed to be Saruhiko's first successful cooking project - were still sitting on the counter beside him, neglected and useless in the wake of the latest disaster. He frowned at them, torn between annoyance and impatience. It wasn't supposed to be like this at all.

Honestly, after spending the past few days in fruitless attempts to teach the most stubborn person he knew a skill that she obviously didn't give two shits about, he couldn't remember what he'd thought it was supposed to be like.

"This was your idea," Saruhiko reminded him, without a trace of remorse.

"Yeah, I know." Yata frowned, drumming his fingers against the counter in agitation as he thought it over. "At some point, you're gonna need basic life skills - you know that, right?"

She clicked her tongue and finally turned to look at him then, lips pressing together into a stubborn frown. "Why should I, when you always cook?"

He straightened as much as he could, trying to make up for the height difference that let her loom over him. "If I'm not around - "

"I survived without you around before."

It came out in a kind of resentful mutter, Saruhiko's eyes darting away from his face, but Yata winced anyway, the old familiar sting striking at him again. It hadn't been nearly long enough. They'd been separated for _years_. You couldn't just erase that in months.

There was no point in dragging it up right then, though. He took in a breath. "I just... fuck." It was still hard to get out. Yata scratched at the back of his head, embarrassed. "I just worry, okay?"

Years of wondering if she was eating properly... years of _not knowing_ and trying to not care, and failing...

Saruhiko's gaze turned back up to meet his, and something in her eyes had his stomach momentarily twisting up in knots. "No one asked you to," she mumbled, clicking her tongue and quickly glancing away again. "I guess it can't be helped, though, if you're going to be annoying about it."

That kind of response was familiar, at least. Yata felt the rueful smile building on his face again. _Some things just don't change, huh?_ "All right!" With renewed spirit, he turned his mind back to the training. "Let's start from the beginning - this time, I'll direct you and we can do it together. Okay?"

"Fine."

He walked her through the rice preparation again, and she followed his directions with no hesitation and no error (which was kind of suspicious, considering how badly the first batch had ended up, but whatever). The vegetables kicked off a small argument, which ended with Yata chopping them himself while Saruhiko carefully sliced at the meat (making completely uneven portions, but it didn't matter as long as she could cook them in the end). With all of that, it seemed like an unreasonably long time before they finally got the meat sizzling in the saucepan - but it felt like something of an achievement.

_At least she's actually trying._ Saruhiko was frowning down at the pan, tongs in hand. There was a little crease in between her eyebrows that spoke of real concentration. It was kind of cute, really...

_Huh? What? Cute?_ No way. Yata blinked rapidly, shook his head, and tried to push that disturbing thought away. This was just Saruhiko, right? Just his best friend. Not cute. Not... not girly, or anything like that. Just Saruhiko.

Just... Saruhiko...

"How long are these supposed to stay like this?" she asked suddenly.

That snapped him out of his thoughts, at least. "Eh?" He glanced down at the pan. "Right. Yeah. They need to be flipped."

"'Flipped'...?" Saruhiko's frown deepened; her brows furrowed.

"Ah, here, I'll show you." Without thinking, he reached across and braced his hand over hers on the tongs, guiding. "Just slide it under to get hold of the edge - it might stick a bit, even with the oil, you kind of have to - " He demonstrated rather than explaining. "See? And then just turn it onto the other side. It's pretty easy, right?"

When he looked up automatically for confirmation, somehow her face was right there above his, pale skin and delicate bone structure and long dark lashes around glittering blue eyes, and he abruptly forgot what he was talking about.

_She's... pretty..._

With how casual things had always been between them, it was easy to forget that Saruhiko was a woman - actually, a really amazingly _beautiful_ woman - and any kind of reminder always struck him dumb and sent shivers running through him. They were close now, too, bodies almost touching, his hand over hers, and he could feel the shared warmth between them even as he stared stupidly up at her face.

Her lips looked really soft, too...

_What the fuck am I doing?_ All at once, Yata became aware of the awkward position and jerked away, stumbling back a few steps and jerking his gaze wildly to the side. His face felt uncomfortably hot. "S-s-s-sorry... I... just... that..." He couldn't seem to string together a sentence; it felt like his brain had tipped over and emptied completely.

His hand still felt a little tingly where it had rested over hers.

_Idiot! Don't think about that!_

"It's... fine." The response came out as sort of a bemused mumble; when he risked a glance back at Saruhiko, she'd raised the hand with the tongs and was staring at it as if she couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or pleased with it. There were two faint spots of color visible at the high point of her cheeks.

_C-cute..._

Yata hastily averted his eyes again, feeling another wave of uncomfortable heat flood over his face. "A-anyway, you... you get the idea, right?"

"Got it," Saruhiko murmured, in a slow, almost thoughtful tone. He risked another glance in time to see the corners of her mouth start to curl up slightly.

The sight probably would've tipped him even closer to the embarrassment overload that he was dangerously nearing, but the smell of something starting to burn successfully derailed that. Yata wrenched his eyes back to the pan, alarmed. "AH! The meat! Quick, turn it!"

Saruhiko clicked her tongue, moving with a really irritating lack of urgency to try and flip the remaining pieces. "What a pain."

Yata scowled at her, still a little flustered but rapidly moving past it. "We're going to have to _eat_ that, dumbass - you have to pay attention with food!"

"Whose fault do you think it is that we weren't?" she drawled back, and paused long enough to shoot him a sideways glance and a little smirk. "Vir~gin."

He could feel the flush building again across his face. "D-don't say it like that!"

Saruhiko made a satisfied-sounding hum in response, and turned her eyes back to the meat.

Somehow or another, he thought, she looked unreasonably pleased with herself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request:** Fem!Saru/Fem!Mi fanfic request! They were sleeping in and Yata wakes up hungry but Fushimi being too cuddly so Yata can't get up to get food.
> 
> **Warning:** This chapter contains explicit sexual content.

Fushimi was a light sleeper under most circumstances, but nothing was quite as effective at rousing her from a sound sleep as the unmistakable shifting when Misaki tried to sneak out of bed in the morning. It wasn't that Misaki was terrible at moving slowly and quietly - although that was true, too - but it seemed like since they'd started sharing the same bed, Fushimi's awareness of her girlfriend's movements had heightened.

It was stupid, but there it was.

This particular morning was cold, though, and most of the heat in their bed came from Misaki's perpetually warm body. Fushimi wasn't exactly feeling generous enough to pretend to sleep while being abandoned to the inevitable chill, so as Misaki shifted to slide out from under the covers, Fushimi turned and snaked both arms around her girlfriend's waist, pulling her into the bed again and pressing up against her back.

_Warm..._

Misaki made an undignified-sounding squeak and thrashed in Fushimi's hold. When she recovered from the surprise, she sharply turned her head, and it was possible to see the scowl without even looking up. It was clear in her voice when she spoke. "Oi. Saru, let go!"

Fushimi didn't even bother lifting her head from its resting place near Misaki's back. "Don't want to," she murmured, and leaned in to rub her nose against the nape of Misaki's neck. From the little jerk and swear she got in response, it seemed like she was cold.

Go figure.

Misaki let out a sigh, body going slack. "Come on, Saruhiko... I'm hungry, just let me up."

"No."

"Seriously?" Misaki grumbled - but she didn't make any move to free herself, either. "What if I had to go the bathroom, huh?"

"But you don't."

"I could!"

"You'd have said so if you did," Fushimi pointed out without hesitation or uncertainty, leaning in to find where the loose neckline of Misaki's T-shirt ended and pressing her lips gently against the exposed curve where neck and shoulder met. She could feel the fine hairs on the skin there rising at the contact, and smiled a little.

The novelty of this - being able to touch Misaki in such an intimate way and having it be accepted; _desired_ , even - had not worn off, even after nearly a year of dating and months of living together. Fushimi wasn't exactly keen on touching people, but of course Misaki was different. Of course Misaki's skin was an addiction for her fingertips. Of course she wanted to know every inch of Misaki's body, and feel Misaki exploring every inch of hers in return.

It never got old, or boring.

Misaki let out a long breath, sounding as if she couldn't decide if she was more irritated or resigned. "You're super annoying in the mornings, you know that?"

Fushimi trailed a lazy finger down along the bunched fabric at her girlfriend's abdomen. "Mmhm."

"Seriously," Misaki grumbled, squirming into a more comfortable position within the loose circle of arms around her waist. "You were never like this before."

_Before we started dating, or before we joined Homra?_ It was a thought Fushimi knew better than to voice. Not that they didn't talk about the past, but in a moment like this, she wasn't particularly eager to feel Misaki's unhappy tension. It was a stark reminder of her own shortcomings. "You're a bad influence," she mumbled instead, letting the finger drop to the strip of skin that was exposed where Misaki's shirt had ridden up.

_You're the one who taught me to rely on you so much..._

"The hell? How am _I_ a bad influence?" Misaki tilted her head back to frown over her shoulder.

Of course she wouldn't get it. But... that was fine. "Who knows," Fushimi drawled back, tracing little spirals on Misaki's belly.

Covering up your true feelings became an insidious habit once you'd fallen into it for so long. Fushimi was... trying. For Misaki's sake, she was trying. It wasn't always easy. And there were times, like this, when she wished Misaki would just figure out what she was thinking without having to say it.

_That'll probably never happen..._

"Yeah, right, whatever." Misaki sighed again, and turned her face forward, out of Fushimi's line of vision. "Are you planning to just to grope me until I forget that I'm hungry?"

Fushimi's hand stilled, halting the latest spiral before she'd even thought it through. "I'm not groping you."

Misaki made a little 'harrumph' noise, sounding derisive. "Yeah, same difference."

"Is it?" Fushimi deliberately tucked her hand back up against her other arm, leaning her forehand against the back of Misaki's neck so that there was no more contact. "I'll stop, then."

She could feel as well as hear the sharp intake of breath. There was a moment of silence, and Fushimi could almost picture the gears in Misaki's head turning as she considered how best to respond to that.

_Predictable..._

The bed was warm and the mood was good. Fushimi decided to be merciful. "Did you want me to grope you, Misaki?"

There was a brief, startled pause, and then Misaki clicked her tongue. "Jerk," she muttered.

"You're the one who always says we should be open with each other," Fushimi pointed out without remorse, letting her voice draw out lazily. She freed her hand again, sliding it slowly up under the bunched up edge of the T-shirt to trace a path up along the line of ribcage beneath, and shifted to press her lips against the spot where her forehead had rested before. "Right, Misaki?"

The way her girlfriend squirmed a little in response was qualitatively different from earlier. "This is a totally different situation than that, okay?" she snapped back. The sharpness in her voice was half-hearted, though; she shivered a little as Fushimi's fingers slid up under the elastic of her bra.

Fushimi had never been able to understand why Misaki bothered wearing a bra to bed in the first place. Neither of them were particularly well endowed. It probably had something to do with the insecurities about chest size that she'd attempted to hide (poorly) all the way through middle school. Fushimi hadn't even started wearing a bra until it had become absolutely necessary, so she wasn't going to worry about wearing one to bed, of all places.

But this was one of the areas where she and Misaki obviously differed. Which was fine. It made things a little bit more fun, even - unpeeling the layers of clothing to get to the softer skin beneath.

Most of Misaki was firm and hard - muscles on her legs from skateboarding, muscles on her arms from swinging that weapon with all her strength, abdomen and shoulders tight and fit. She was a small girl, compact and wiry, but she wasn't soft by any means. Except in the places that only Fushimi was allowed to touch - the places where just a light brush of fingertips could make her blush and catch her breath.

_Speaking of which..._ A little 'mm' of approval escaped Misaki's lips as Fushimi slid the bra up over the curve of her breast, leaving one finger to trail after and skirting teasingly around the nipple. When Fushimi leaned in to lightly kiss the side of Misaki's neck, letting warm breath wash over the sensitive skin, Misaki obligingly tilted her head to the side, seeking more attention.

It was still such a rush how these kinds of delicate touches could undo her. They'd done it rough, hard, fast, needy; touching each other with desperation and lust - Misaki wasn't particular about sex. Most of the time, she was the one initiating it, but when Fushimi felt like starting something, the fastest way to get her girlfriend in the mood was to touch her gently. Little brushes of contact in the right places, and Misaki came apart so quickly.

Somehow, at the back of her head, Fushimi still felt a bit of wonder at that.

She could feel the shiver making its way through Misaki's frame as she kissed a light line up the taut line of her neck, circling a fingertip around Misaki's nipple and then tracing a line around and along the path of her ribs to the sensitive spot at the side of her body. When Fushimi's mouth reached the corner of Misaki's jaw, she could feel the slight strain as Misaki bit her lip. A small, pleased sound escaped despite the effort, as Fushimi's fingers teased slowly downward again.

"Saru... hiko..." The name came out as a breathy sigh, hitching just a little when Fushimi kissed the small space between jaw and ear. Misaki's belly tightened under her hand as she reached low enough to touch the elastic band of her underwear. "Yeah... yeah, there..."

Fushimi could already feel the pleasant spike of arousal low within her own body but ignored it for the moment, letting her fingers slip beneath the thin fabric of Misaki's underwear. Her girlfriend obligingly lifted a knee to grant easier access.

Unsurprisingly, the soft folds at the downturn of Misaki's body were slick and warm, more so as Fushimi slid her fingertips gently within, finding the small nub that, when brushed, caused Misaki's back to arch and a low moan to escape the cage of teeth and lips. She kept the contact light, gratified by the way Misaki shifted sinuously in the curve of her arm as she made tiny circling motions over that most sensitive spot.

"Misaki..." Fushimi breathed the name out just beneath the soft curve of her girlfriend's ear, following up with a press of lips and a light flick of tongue, and Misaki moaned again, a flush rising on her face that Fushimi could feel more than see.

That uncontained reaction was feeding directly into the ache between Fushimi's legs; she curled a little against Misaki's backside, increasing the pace of her finger as if it would satisfy the need building at her core, and listened with satisfaction as Misaki's breathing grew rough and frenzied. The hand that was tucked under her girlfriend's body slid up to cup the underside of Misaki's breast, thumbing the hardened bump of her nipple.

"Ha-ah..." Misaki arched into the touch, lips parted and eyes closed as Fushimi pressed heated kisses against her neck and jawline. Even from the awkward angle, that lustful expression was unbelievably erotic.

_That's it..._ Lifting her head for just a moment, Fushimi watched those amber eyes flicker open, clouded over with pleasure, before squeezing shut again. Her own breath was coming faster, but that wasn't important at the moment. _Show me everything... everything..._

There was no way she could ever get enough of this.

Misaki's body was trembling, tight with anticipation. "F-Fuck..." She whined, low and anxious. "Saru... Saru..." Fushimi took the fleshy part of her girlfriend's ear between her teeth and breathed softly against it, simultaneously bringing the pace of her finger to a light staccato, and Misaki abruptly jerked in her arms, half gasping moans escaping with each sharp motion. Her clit seemed to pulse with the rhythm of her orgasm, as if attempting to suck pleasure from Fushimi's fingertip.

Another hot little jolt of arousal arched out from Fushimi's lower region. She wriggled her hand free as Misaki panted heavily in her arms, trailing lips and tongue down the line of neck and collar. "Misaki," she murmured again, an almost reverent exhale against the loose fabric of the T-shirt, before skipping to the point where the sleeve ended and the skin of her girlfriend's arm began.

Her mouth brushed the thin, familiar irregularity of an old scar - she could find it without looking, these days - and Fushimi closed her eyes for a moment, lips pursing in wordless, unasked-for apology.

Perhaps it was masochistic of her. Somehow there was always the urge lurking at the back of her head - the need to somehow taper the pleasure of most happy moments with bitter reminders of things that couldn't be changed from their past. When she'd thrown that knife she hadn't been thinking beyond the heat of the moment - the driving need to make Misaki hurt; to draw out her hatred in the worst way possible.

It was hard to believe they'd even gotten to this point in the end, with how messed up they - _she_ \- had been.

Misaki let out a short, exasperated sigh. "What are you thinking about at a time like this?" she muttered, and abruptly jostled her arm loose, turning to push Fushimi onto her back and bending over her with fierce, determined eyes. Her mouth quirked up at the corners once she'd gotten Fushimi's full attention, eyebrows coming down to match the wicked smirk. "Forget about that, and start focusing on what I'm going to do to you right now, _Saru_."

That look was enough to wipe the previous thoughts away. "Oh?" Fushimi lowered her eyelids and returned the smirk, a little rush of warmth spreading out from her lower belly. "Why not make me focus then, Mi~sa~ki~?"

"You asked for it." Misaki's tone was low and throaty, matching the promising heat in her eyes. Her T-shirt and bra were still jumbled together at the top of her body, revealing most of her torso, but that obviously wasn't high on her priority list at the moment. Wedging a knee between Fushimi's legs, she lowered herself to her elbows, leaning in to press their lips together.

Kissing Misaki was an experience all on its own. Not because she was skilled (although it wasn't like Fushimi would know one way or another, having no basis for comparison), but because she threw every ounce of whatever feeling was prompting the kiss into it. From simple affection to desperate lust to cocky certainty to those particularly soulful moments that still felt not quite real in Fushimi's head. Each one had the potential to trip a switch in her chest that could either set her heart to frantic pounding or slow it to a near stop, depending on her own mood and mindset.

It was addicting - and slightly terrifying. Mostly good, though, in the end.

This particular one was I-just-had-an-amazing-orgasm-and-now-I'm-going-to-give-you-the-same, and the feeling it came with was a whole lot of enthusiasm, sprinkled with the barest hint of competitive aggression. Their mouths came together firmly, and Misaki tilted her head to fit them more neatly, pressing in with warm confidence. She held it like that for a beat, giving them both time to adjust to the intimacy of the contact, and then pulled away just the barest amount to come back in with parted lips, flicking her tongue out to run it boldly along the line of Fushimi's bottom lip, demanding - and receiving - access.

_Impatient as always._ All the same, it sent a little shivering thrill through Fushimi's body. Misaki was lucky she liked it like this - liked the lack of restraint and the eagerness that led to things like this hasty open-mouthed kiss and the calloused hand squirming between them to slide up under her shirt. She didn't bother to hold back the moan that came instinctively to her lips as Misaki's fingers found the bottom curve of her breast. It was best when those fingertips pressed into her skin - _Yes, just like that_ \- with rough need and reckless abandon.

Misaki pinched her nipple - not hard, just firm enough to add an edge of discomfort to the surge of pleasure, and Fushimi arched on the bed, whining a bit into the kiss. She brought her hands up and squeezed Misaki's shoulders, encouraging her further.

"Like that, huh?" Misaki broke away to murmur, and moved to plant harsh, sloppy kisses down along Fushimi's jaw.

Fushimi hummed low in her throat, dipping her head back to give her girlfriend room. "Hm... Misaki..." A little swirl of anticipation was starting to build at the pit of her stomach as Misaki stopped teasing her nipple long enough to gather her T-shirt up to her collarbone, pausing with the line of kisses just long enough to make the little jump to the other side of the bunched fabric.

It was becoming clear where this was going, even if she hadn't already guessed beforehand what Misaki's objective would be. _Well... not like I mind._ She made another soft sound of approval as Misaki shifted her weight back and devoted both hands to caressing the sides of Fushimi's body, thumbing over the curve of her breasts while she traced a line with warm lips and tongue purposefully down the length of torso.

Fushimi didn't even try to restrain the anxious little hitch of breath that escaped when Misaki's hot mouth reached her lower belly. The ache between her legs was becoming unbearable. Even waiting for Misaki's fingers to slip beneath the elastic band of her underwear and slide it down seemed like an intolerable amount of wasted time.

"Saruhiko..." That quiet exhalation of her name had so much underlying fondness that Fushimi couldn't help but squirm, raising her head a little to squint down at Misaki, who smiled up at her for just a beat, gaze hot and half-lidded and promising even through Fushimi's poor vision, and then lowered her face.

The first tentative touch of Misaki's tongue on the most sensitive part of her body had Fushimi tensing up - the light, practiced follow-up motions brought another whimper to the back of her throat as sensation flooded through her. Misaki's mouth was slick and hot, tongue pressing in just enough to bring the pleasure to the outside edge of discomfort as it made small circling motions around Fushimi's clit. One hand was still braced on her hip, holding her down; the other slipped in between her legs, fingers finding and teasing at the entrance to her body.

The dual stimulation had Fushimi arching on the bed again, a strangled moan tearing from her throat as Misaki's fingers pressed inside her. She had already been on edge from the earlier foreplay, and the direct contact was raising the delicious ache within her to its peak quickly. "Mi... saki..." The digits within her body curled, wriggling, and she clawed the bedsheets with shaking hands, tipping her head back helplessly as she teetered on the brink of helpless bliss. "Haa...aa... don't stop... _don't_ \- "

Misaki made a throaty noise of satisfaction, the vibration carrying through, and the extra spike of pleasure was all it took. Fushimi cried out as orgasm pulsed through her, body shuddering helplessly through the wave of euphoria while her girlfriend continued to work her over until the end.

When she stilled, panting, every muscle gone slack in the wake of that rush, Misaki pulled back. Fushimi's legs were still trembling slightly; they twitched a bit when the fingers slid from her body. As she raised her head, eyes slitted and vision even more fuzzy than before, Misaki swiped the back of her hand across her mouth and slowly lifted herself up to offer a broad grin.

"So?" The self-satisfied expression became clearer on her face as she shifted up Fushimi's body to bring them closer together. "How's _that_ for focus, huh?"

Fushimi allowed herself a lazy little smile in return, pleasantly warm and satiated, and reached up impulsively to run a finger along Misaki's bottom lip. "I'm not complaining."

"Good." Misaki leaned in closer, eyelids lowering, and then abruptly pecked her on the nose and backed away, jumping up off the bed and straightening her shirt as she did. "Because I'm even hungrier than before, and now I _do_ have to piss. Later!" With one last cheeky grin over her shoulder and a flick of her fingers, she was off in the direction of the bathroom.

_... Seriously._ Fushimi stared after her, disgruntled. There were times when Misaki's careless nature was really inconvenient. _No help for it, I guess._ Letting out a low, resigned breath, she pushed herself up and reached behind the bed to find her glasses.

At the very least, it was a good start to the day.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Note:** This was an extra scene I wrote for my Sarumi wedding fanfic, Yours and Mine. It takes place between chapters 2 and 3.
> 
>  **Warning:** This chapter contains explicit sexual content. Misaru.

When Fushimi drifted awake, he was lying on his side with slivers of light hitting the pillow beside him and the familiar weight of Misaki's arm slung over his waist from behind him. He could feel the light brush of warm breath against the back of his neck, heavy and rhythmic with sleep.

It was a comforting sort of way to wake up.

The memories of the previous night were starting to reawaken as well. Fushimi slid his left hand up slowly and regarded the slim band on his ring finger, with a kind of sleep-hazed wonder. Yesterday, he had married Misaki. It didn't really change anything - it was just a piece of jewelry; an official stamp of approval on a relationship they'd already defined and agreed to. But Misaki's intentions meant something. Misaki's words of devotion. Misaki's eyes that looked at him with open affection.

It was special because Misaki considered it special. Misaki considered _him_ special.

Fushimi closed his eyes again, letting the soothing weight of that fact settle over him. He reached down blindly to cover Misaki's hand with his, threading their fingers together and feeling the slight difference in resistance as his ring brushed against his husband's.

_Husband, huh?_

Behind him, Misaki shifted a little, sighing in his sleep against Fushimi's neck and drawing in closer. The familiar slide of skin against skin stirred up a little shiver at the base of Fushimi's stomach. Misaki's naked torso was warm and it fit comfortably against his equally naked back, which was nice.

The undeniable press of his morning erection against Fushimi's backside was... nice in a different way.

_Isn't that interesting?_

The memory of Misaki's lips moving hungrily against his as those calloused hands ran urgently over his body slunk seductively to the forefront of Fushimi's mind, and he allowed himself a little smile. _We didn't manage to deal with that last night, did we?_ Experimentally, he ground his hips back against Misaki's erection, and felt more than heard the sleepy 'mmm' that came in response. His own cock gave a little twitch of interest, familiar with the potential pleasure offered by the situation.

Misaki was pretty easy to work up in almost all situations, and the bedroom was no exception. It was gratifying to be able to draw his heated gaze with innocuous movements or actions, but more than that, Fushimi liked to feel the tremble of excitement in Misaki's movements as his control slipped - the way his kisses grew clumsy and frenzied and his eyes started to glaze over with lust.

It was a heady feeling, being the focus of that.

 _Misaki..._ Fushimi breathed out slowly, feeling the tense excitement building in his lower body. First things first, of course... He slid his hand from Misaki's and reached for the bedside drawer, pulling it open and retrieving the half-used bottle from inside.

Experience had proven that it was a good idea to have it within easy reach in moments like this.

Misaki's breathing was still deep and relaxed against his neck, his arm slack around Fushimi's waist. He was generally a heavy sleeper, but if you knew which buttons to press, it wasn't difficult to wake him up. Fushimi slid a finger lightly from Misaki's wrist up his forearm, feeling the small fine hairs rise as he did, and shifted his hips back again, pressing against the hard bulge under his husband's underwear.

Another low, sleep-fogged hum was his response; Misaki's erection twitched against his backside, body shifting in even closer and fingers curling slightly.

 _Too easy._ Also, it felt nice, evoking an unconscious action like that. Fushimi felt the familiar sharp tug of arousal as he shifted his hips back again, the length of Misaki's dick catching in the cleft of his ass - a firm, appealing source of friction beneath the fabric that separated them. It was easier, then, to slide along it just a little ways, gently but deliberately mimicking the thrusting motion of sex.

Misaki moaned softly against his skin, hips jerking lazily, and Fushimi shut his eyes and sighed, savoring the slide of friction and the pleasant, accompanying ache in his groin. He was hard already in anticipation of Misaki spreading him open and thrusting inside - that sting and fullness and _heat_ \- and didn't particularly feel like drawing things out. He slid his hand down over his husband's fingers again, tilting his head back and murmuring, "Misaki..."

Misaki shifted behind him, the even rhythm of his breathing breaking with a sudden, long inhale. He stiffened very briefly, and then let out another soft, sleepy moan, curling slightly against Fushimi's back. "Sa... Saru..." The mumble came out throaty and only about halfway aware, but affected.

Fushimi hummed low in response and slid back again, drawing out a stuttered gasp as he rubbed against the hard bulge of Misaki's erection. The arm around him tightened almost reflexively, pressing their bodies even closer together. "Mm... f-fuck..." Misaki mouthed at the base of his neck, lips and tongue feeling hot against the sensitive skin, and thrust his hips forward lazily, drawing a moan out of both of them this time.

The tip of Fushimi's dick was leaking moisture, and it ached; unable to quite stand it, he guided Misaki's hand down, and felt his husband's breath catch and then quicken as his fingers curled to stroke obligingly through the slightly damp fabric of Fushimi's underwear.

The resulting surge of pleasure was a relief. "Misaki," Fushimi breathed, arching into the touch appreciatively and not bothering to hold back the little sound that escaped him as his husband thrust up against him from behind again.

"Saruhiko..." Misaki's voice had gone low and rough, almost a growl - which was typical when he was seriously turned on. He bit lightly at the junction of neck and shoulder, and Fushimi shuddered with the mix of pleasure and slight discomfort. "Fucking... hm... tease..."

"You... like it, though." He had enough presence of mind to grind back against Misaki's dick again, and got a stuttering moan in response. Misaki's fingers curled more firmly around him, stroking up strongly, and Fushimi tipped his head back, rendered momentarily breathless as little strands of sensation rippled through him like electricity.

His husband took the opportunity to plant wet, sloppy kisses up along the side of his neck. "Saru... Saruhiko..." There was a noticeable tremble in his frame. "Can I... Is it okay... ?"

"Mm." Rather than answering, Fushimi groped for the bottle he'd brought onto the bed earlier, offering it back over his shoulder.

There was a brief, startled pause before Misaki took it from him. "Fuck..." Fushimi could almost feel the smirk spreading on his husband's face with that. "I love you."

The words still set off that little 'ping' in his chest. "Getting sentimental already?" Fushimi murmured, in an instinctive attempt to cover it.

"Shut up." Misaki's answering tone was fond; he planted another lingering kiss at the back of Fushimi's neck, and slid his hand back a ways to pull down the waistband of Fushimi's underwear.

It was fortunate that they didn't have all that much clothing to remove, because it was hard to curb his impatience as it was. After a certain amount of shuffling - the bare minimum, really, since it didn't seem like Misaki was any more eager than he was to delay the main event - he heard the sound of the bottle top opening. From there, it was only a second or two of anticipation before Misaki's slicked fingers were probing with almost exaggerated care around the puckered hole at the base of his ass.

"Mmm." The little hum of approval that escaped him as the first digit slid into his body came out almost like a moan. Misaki's movements were slow and almost painstakingly gentle, that boundless affection coming through in each little motion. His fingers were warm enough that even the initial cold from the lube dispelled quickly enough, and Fushimi could just revel in the sensation.

 _More..._ "It's... fine already," he managed, biting his lip against a gasp as those fingers slid in even deeper. Not deep enough, though... not enough to touch all the places Misaki could reach when they were moving together. "Just... go ahead."

He could hear Misaki's breath hitch a little at that; after a split second of hesitation, there was a quick, heated kiss on his shoulder and then his husband's fingers left him. Fushimi breathed out slowly, already missing the feeling, and allowed himself a small smile at the unmistakable sound and quick movements behind him as Misaki prepared himself.

A slick hand found his hip, and then the tip of Misaki's dick was prodding at him, and his heart rate seemed to double as anticipation rose up at the back of his throat. "Okay?" Misaki asked him, voice rough and breathy.

Fushimi couldn't help a brief, amused little huff of breath at that. "You don't really have to ask."

"Yeah, yeah." The tone was too affected for a proper grumble, so that response seemed more like a kind of blissful affirmation. There was no chance to really consider it, regardless, because Misaki was already pushing into him, past the initial ring of resistance, and everything else kind of faded into unimportant background noise against the slick friction and the much-needed feeling of being filled that came along with it.

Sex with Misaki was always so deeply satisfying, it almost hurt.

Speaking of hurt... The initial entry still stung a bit, but there was something arousing about that small amount of pain. Fushimi let out a low, heartfelt whimper, his own dick already twitching before Misaki's had even slid all the way inside of him. Misaki's breath was hot and desperate against his shoulder, his fingers tightening on Fushimi's hip as he seated himself, trembling with the effort of restraining his own urges.

_Even though I'd be fine if you didn't bother..._

He couldn't say the intense amount of care directed at him was unappealing either, though. Misaki bit lightly at his shoulder again, sinking in all the way and hesitating for just a brief moment to allow Fushimi to adjust before pulling out and thrusting again, slow and lazy and _deep_.

The sensation tore a moan from Fushimi's throat again, and Misaki echoed it against the curve where his neck and shoulder met, low and throaty and unrestrained. He began to thrust in earnest, releasing some of that restraint from earlier as he chased his own satisfaction, and the catch and slide of his cock triggered pleasure signals that seemed to reverberate all the way through Fushimi's body.

He didn't bother to hold back the cry that escaped him, arching his back in helpless response. _Yes... like this..._ "Misaki..." From this angle, his prostate wasn't quite being hit, but the head of Misaki's cock teased it with each thrust, and the mingled feel of that fleeting pleasure and the increasingly heated open-mouthed kisses being planted on his neck were coming close to driving him insane.

"Saruhiko," Misaki all but breathed out, voice pitched low and drawn out - the way it always got when he was helplessly caught up in the moment. The hand that had rested on Fushimi's hip slid forward to grip his cock again, stroking firmly in time with the thrusting from behind.

The influx of sensation was enough to push him to the breaking point. Fushimi stiffened and cried out as the tension flooding his body peaked and he spilled himself over Misaki's hand and his own lower abdomen. The waves of pleasure that surged up from his groin had him shuddering helplessly in Misaki's arms, hips jerking in reflex as his husband continued to jerk him off right through his orgasm.

He was just coming down from it, breathing heavily in the aftermath, when Misaki made a strangled noise against his throat and thrust deeply, cock twiching and the rest of his body trembling as he released within Fushimi's body.

_Ah, yes... there it is..._

"Fuck..." The expulsion was breathless, but heartfelt; Misaki slumped against his back, ducking a bit so that his forehead rested on Fushimi's shoulder. "Morning," he added, after a second of just breathing, voice muffled slightly.

Typical. Fushimi made a faint, derisive noise, shifting a little so that his husband's softening cock slid out of him. He was becoming aware of the sore points on his body now - most of which felt somehow satisfying in the wake of his orgasm. They were definitely going to need to go wash. Eventually. "You're just saying that now?"

"Not like you gave me a chance earlier," Misaki shot back, fond exasperration in his tone. He snaked his arm around Fushimi's waist, drawing in closer. "That was kind of awesome, though. 'M not complaining."

The possessive hold was actually comforting, in a strange way. Fushimi closed his eyes, feeling like there were a few things hovering right on the tip of his tongue but having trouble letting them out properly. After a moment of struggling with it, he settled for a soft, mumbled, "Thanks."

There was a brief, startled pause behind him - and then he could practically hear the smile in Misaki's voice as he responded, "Any time."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** kings (from #onedayk on twitter)

"Tell me what's so great about your King."

The words were barely out of Yata's mouth before Fushimi was turning his head on the grass where they were lying. One of his eyebrows quirked just above the frame of his glasses. "What brought that on?"

Yata frowned back. "Just do it, okay?"

"Hm." Fushimi lowered the eyebrow, but his gaze was skeptical. "Technically, he's not even a King any more, you know."

"Yeah, technically, whatever." Yata brushed that aside impatiently. "Even with the Slate gone, Anna's still always going to be my King. It's the same for you, right?"

Fushimi clicked his tongue and turned his head so that he was facing up towards the sky again - which was as good as agreement, coming from him. "What's the point of this conversation, Misaki? What are you hoping to get out of it?"

Yata turned his own gaze upward again, tracing the shape of the clouds with his eyes vaguely. "I'm mostly just curious." Truthfully, there was a lot he still didn't understand any more about Fushimi, and he was eager to close the gaps - but he didn't feel like saying that out loud just yet. "Come on. I'll even start, if you want."

Fushimi made a non-committal noise, lifting a hand to wave it lazily, and Yata took that as permission.

"Okay, so! My King rebuilt Homra from the ashes and made it amazing and awesome again!" Even as he said it, he felt that stirring of pride and warmth within - Anna was incredible, after all. "Now your turn - what's great about your King?"

He could hear the long, almost weary exhale that Fushimi let out, and forced himself to count in his head while he waited. He'd just about reached ten when he finally got back a low, reluctant mumble, "My King... gives the most illogical, ridiculous orders." He paused there for a moment, and Yata was about to demand to know what the hell was so great about that when he continued, "And somehow it always leads to things working out perfectly to his satisfaction. It's annoying."

_Ah. It's like that, huh?_ This felt a little familiar. Yata grinned up at the sky. "My King dedicated all her strength to protecting the important things, and never wavers!"

There was less of a pause this time. "My King..." Fushimi sucked in a short breath, and some of the reluctance even left his voice as he added, "patiently builds and shapes the future, with everything falling into perfect order."

This was good. Yata shut his eyes for a moment. "My King could make huge phoenix wings and fly!"

"Are you a kid?" Fushimi muttered, and then sighed again. "Fine. My King could generate impenetrable shields in an instant."

"My King could destroy blaster shields with enormous fire blasts!"

"My King could shatter illusions as if they didn't exist."

"My King could engulf entire buildings in flame!"

"My King could extinguish flames engulfing an entire building. Probably."

"Hey, that's cheating!" Yata scowled up at the clouds, mildly disgruntled, and then let out his breath in a rush. This was probably a good opportunity to say something he'd been wanting to... A little nervous fluttering started in his stomach, and he tried to ignore it, drawing up his determination.

_Now or never, right?_

"Your King..." It was kind of hard to say, but whatever, this was important. Yata stubbornly pushed himself on. "... told me the things you couldn't, because he knew that I had to go after you, no matter what." Into what felt like a heavy silence following that statement, he added, "I thought you should know... just for that, I think he's a pretty good guy."

When he turned his head for a reaction, Fushimi was turning his almost in sync - and when Yata let the feeling building in his heart out into a sincere smile, he got his reward in the form of the softening of his oldest friend's gaze, even before the corners of Fushimi's mouth turned up in response.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** clan reversal (from #onedayk on twitter)
> 
> I got art from Maru for this drabble [here](https://twitter.com/marudyne/status/690642478790213632)! Thank you so much!

The dingy little apartment was dark and still, the only light coming from the glow of Fushimi's PDA. He was sitting cross-legged on the futon that was spread across his loft, vaguely aware of the way the color emitted from the device in his hands mingled with the plain off-white bedding, tinting it green.

Everything seemed to be outlined in green these days. It was probably inevitable.

Well, regardless, it didn't matter. Fushimi slid his thumb over the PDA screen, idly browsing through the familiar Jungle mission list for something he could get up to the next day. His points were visible at the top - the reason behind the restless thoughts that wouldn't allow him to sleep.

_Close..._

"Saruhiko?" Almost in sync with that unusually hushed voice, the light from another PDA blended with his; when he looked up, Misaki's head was propped up on the edge of his futon, a single forearm stretched beneath it with the device clenched in his hand. "Hey, can I come up?"

Fushimi raised an eyebrow at him. "Aren't you already up?"

Misaki pulled a face. "Yeah, whatever - that's a yes, then, right?" He didn't wait for a response, stepping up higher on the ladder and pulling himself onto the loft. Fushimi automatically shuffled over to give him space, and he settled in on the futon, close enough for their knees to brush. He leaned in to look over at Fushimi's PDA screen, and their shoulders bumped. "Any good missions?"

The physical contact wasn't unwelcome - it was Misaki, after all. "A few. Nothing that's worth much." Fushimi scrolled further down the list with his thumb, just to confirm. He didn't really expect there to be anything he'd missed on the previous pass-through. "There might be more tomorrow."

"Yeah, right." Even without turning, he could see the white of Misaki's teeth as he grinned, brought out by the glow from the PDA and the contrasting darkness around them. "J-rank is in our sights at last! We're gonna hit the top, you and me! Just like I always said." A sharp rush of static, and there was a new light blending with the rest, flickering. "We'll do amazing things, right, Saruhiko?"

_Of course we will._ The answer was there instantly in his head; he didn't really feel the need to voice it. Fushimi lowered his PDA, his eyes drifting naturally to the tiny electric sparks dancing around the fingers of Yata's outstretched hand. "Are you sure that's something you should play around with?"

"Why not?" Yata's shoulder brushed his as he shrugged. "Isn't it cool? The power we earned together." He raised his hand and moved it a little bit more towards Fushimi, the tiny arches of lightning passing between his fingertips and skittering around his palm. "You think so too, don't you, Saruhiko?"

He did, in a way, although he wasn't as crazy about it as Misaki. It made the 'N' rank a milestone, and silenced the tiny skeptical voice at the back of Fushimi's head that questioned whether his idea of getting to the top rank in Jungle was really worthwhile. His partner had been enthusiastic - Fushimi privately thought Misaki felt that Jungle owed him something, and it wasn't like he disagreed with that. Jungle was a malicious system: a dog-eat-dog world where the strong ones climbed their way to the top, and the weak sank to the bottom. It was ugly, but that wasn't going to stop either of them from conquering it.

_When we reach the top, is it going to change anything?_

Months of picking the smartest missions for the best amount of points, with Fushimi setting up plans and relying on Misaki's agility, instincts, and fast reaction times to carry them out. Near misses... desperate situations they managed to make it out of... headaches and hard work and more effort than he'd expected to put into this back when they'd first started.

If nothing changed in the end, they really should try to blow up this worthless world.

Instead of answering the earlier question, Fushimi raised his own hand, brushing his fingers lightly against Misaki's and feeling the buzz from the electricity. Using that sense of _green_ within him, he tugged gently at the strands, the tiny threads of lightening jumping from Misaki's fingertips to his and dancing around his hand as well - back and forth, over and over, creating a tenuous connection between the two of them. His body seemed to thrum in time with the tingling of the current on his hand.

When he raised his eyes up, Misaki was smiling at him, his face illuminated in green and his expression warm, and any doubtful or anxious feelings settled within Fushimi's body.

"Yeah," he said at last, and let his lips form into an answering smile. "I think so."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** crossovers (from #onedayk on Twitter) - 1/2
> 
> **Note:** The setting is from the anime Nagi no Asukara

The ocean was beautiful and dim, quiet and mysterious, strong and full of life.

Fushimi didn't particularly hate or love it. That was just where he existed. The house in that small ocean city of Shioshishio was mostly empty - and it was better that way. The people in the city didn't talk to him much; liked to whisper when he walked by (he was part of the disgraced family, after all, whose mother had rejected the sea and no longer had the ena on her skin that allowed her to live underwater), but he didn't care about them.

_There's no point in conversing with idiots, after all._ Better to be alone.

It wasn't like he hated the idea of the surface, either - it was just another place in this useless world, no better or worse than any other - but there were only so many places Niki could disappear to for weeks on end, and so his suspicions lead him to avoid it for the most part.

That was why he didn't really know what possessed him on that day, when he swam up there.

Well. He sort of did. _Will anything change?_

The refracted light from the sun still reached Shioshishio, but it was brighter as he rose. Almost blinding.

_Will my thoughts change?_

There was a shadow at the edge where water met air, and he gave it a wide berth, moving more slowly - warily - as the sound of voices started to reach him through that barrier.

_Will this boring existence change?_

He thought about turning back. If he wanted to hear obnoxious idiots chattering at each other, he could do that just as well under the sea. But then...

_Will I change?_

When his head broke the surface, and he had to squint in the harsh light from the sun, the first thing to reach his senses was a loud voice, " - easy, see? Just... like... this..."

"Yata-san... you shouldn't stand here..." The second voice was more timid, full of concern, and Fushimi had just enough time to register that, frowning in the general direction of the sounds and the blurry shapes, his vision slowly starting to clear a little before there was an alarmed cry and a loud splash, and the water around him rippled.

"Yata-san!"

Fushimi blinked a few times, adjusting to the bright light, and took in the scene in front of him. There was a heavyset kid in a small, dangerously swaying boat - at least, he assumed that was supposed to be a boat; it wasn't like he'd ever seen one in person, and to be honest, this one looked kind of like a floating shipwreck. The kid was peering anxiously into the water over one side where the settling white froth indicated that something - or someone - had fallen in. He looked about Fushimi's age, give or take a year.

_Are the kids up here all this stupid?_

"HAH!" Another head popped up out of the water, drawing in a sharp, obnxiously loud breath. The second kid was grinning almost before he'd gotten air into his lungs, chestnut hair plastered to his face and neck, expression vaguely sheepish as he tread water. "Oops."

"Yata-san, don't scare me like that!" the first boy protested, sinking back into his seat with relief.

"My bad!" the second boy responded carelessly, propelling himself back a little so that his body was almost flat. "It's not like you don't know I can swim, though! Seriously, it's no big - " As he turned his head, his eyes met Fushimi's, and they widened a little, the rest of his sentence seeming to die in his throat.

A small prickle of alarm spread across Fushimi's skin, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to move. The eyes that met his were a color he'd never seen before on another face - almost pure amber - and they sparkled like the tiny reflections of light that reached the deepest places in the ocean. The kid's skin was lightly tanned, a little burnt around the edges of his ears, and even drenched in water and mostly swallowed by the sea, he looked somehow like he was made for the sun.

It was kind of fascinating in a way, and something in Fushimi's chest gave a little squeeze.

The kid blinked at him slowly, legs and torso sinking again as he shifted to face Fushimi in the water. "Hey," he said, almost tentatively, staring back with equal interest and maybe a tiny bit of awe. "Um... sorry, but... who are you?"

That question was enough to snap him out of the daze. _Stupid!_ Fushimi jerked his gaze away abruptly and dove without answering, just catching the startled yelp of "wait!" before his head and then his body were underwater and he was kicking himself down, back to the cooler, dimmer places beneath the water. He didn't look back to see if the kid tried to follow him. A person who lived on the surface couldn't keep up with someone who had ena.

_What was that about, anyway?_

It wasn't until he was settling back onto his feet in a quiet corner of the city, with the rush of panic from earlier mostly dissipated, that he stopped to consider the tiny thread of disappointment. Fushimi turned his gaze upward again, past the buildings, to where the rippling light from the sun came down through the water.

Those sparkling amber eyes were still clear in his mind, as if he was looking right at them, and his heart was racing even as he stood perfectly still.

_... Did something change?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of two drabbles I wrote for this prompt, so I'll be posting another one later today.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** crossovers (from #onedayk on Twitter) - 2/2
> 
> **Note:** The setting is from the anime Nagi no Asukara

Yata's least favorite time of day was when the sun was setting - not because he hated nighttime or anything, but because it meant he needed to start heading home so he could make it there by dinner, and that meant parting ways.

_Not like I won't see him tomorrow or anything, right?_ That was the thought he always used to cheer himself up. Still...

A finger flicked him in the forehead, startling him abruptly out of his thoughts. "Ow! Hey, what the hell?"

"You were spacing out," Saruhiko commented, without remorse. He pulled back his hand, and Yata caught a glimmer of the fading light catching on the otherwise unnoticeable layer on his skin. It made him look like he was made of marble or porcelain.

Ena was fascinating to Yata. It wasn't just how it looked - although that was kind of neat, too, when you saw it sparkle like that. But the best part was that you could breathe underwater - you could survive at the bottom of the ocean. Just the thought was cool!

To be honest, he was a little jealous. Yata didn't really want to live down there, but it would've been nice if he could visit Saruhiko's home once in a while.

"Yeah, yeah." He brushed that thought aside. _Never gonna happen, so why think about it, right?_ "I just noticed it's getting kind of late - I gotta get home soon."

"Hm." Saruhiko turned his face away, frowning out at the ocean from where they leaned against the railing that lined the sidewalk along the coastline. "I guess."

Nearly a year of being in the same class after the Shioshishio students transfered up to the surface had taught Yata that it was a bad idea to ask if Saruhiko's family was expecting him back any time soon. He didn't really know the details, but the other kids from the ocean seemed to think it was some kind of mark of shame that Saruhiko's mother had moved to the surface - and Saruhiko himself responded with a noncommittal shrug when asked if he knew where she was.

He didn't talk about his father. At all.

"Well, you can't stay out too much longer either, right?" Yata didn't make any move to leave yet - there was still time, and he did have one more thing to kind of look forward to... "Y'know, with your ena and all."

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, frown deepening. "It's fine."

It probably wasn't, but Yata let it pass - it wasn't going to make much of a difference now, anyway, considering how little time was left. Although he hadn't seen it dry out in person, he privately thought it was kind of crazy how fragile ena was. It was supposed to be like scales or something, but if you went too long without water, it apparently dried up and chipped off. It was weirdly fascinating when he considered it. Once, he'd even had a dream where he ran his fingers up Fushimi's arm and the ena broke apart like that thin later of frost on a cold early morning.

A little prickle ran over his own skin at the thought, and he tried to shove that memory back, pushing away from the railing. "I should probably go. Mom's gonna have a fit if I'm late for dinner again."

He would've tried to invite Saruhiko over for dinner if he thought he could get away with it, but he hadn't been doing so well in class and after dinner had been designated "homework" time until further notice, so that was almost definitely not going to work.

_Too bad._ But there was still that one thing left...

"I'll head back too, then." Saruhiko moved away from the railing, stepping over to the gate that led out onto the pier. Yata trailed after him, a tiny bit of anticipation curling in his belly.

It wasn't really that big a deal, but still - _still_...

When they reached the end of the pier, Saruhiko paused, lifting his hands to pull his glasses off - they were only for the surface, since he couldn't use them underwater anyway - and tucking them safely into his school bag. He squinted at Yata afterwards, face shadowed against the setting sun but with the blue of his eyes still somehow standing out. "See you, Misaki."

"Don't call me that in public," Yata shot back automatically, without much venom. He was kind of used to it by now.

Saruhiko raised an eyebrow at him, glancing meaningfully at the empty sidewalk behind them. "What 'public'?"

"Whatever, you know what I mean!" Yata huffed, just a tiny bit annoyed, then managed a rueful grin. "See you tomorrow."

A small, almost reluctant smile answered him. "Yeah," Saruhiko said, before turning to dive into the ocean, bag and all.

This was the only good part about the end of the day. Yata crouched down so that he could see better, through the growing darkness and the ripples on the surface. He could make out the outline of Saruhiko's slender form cutting gracefully through the water, the faint shimmers of the remaining light glancing off of his ena, and even that blurry sight felt like it made Yata's whole body shiver.

It was amazing and beautiful, and it excited him like nothing else. _Saruhiko is so awesome!_

After seconds passed and he was sure he couldn't see any more, Yata straightened up and started off the pier, his thoughts still filled with a soft voice making dry, clever comments, pale sparkling skin, and the blurry, vanishing figure of his best friend swimming down to the bottom of the ocean.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** random strain powers (from #onedayk on Twitter)
> 
> **Note:** NSFW. Masturbation. I'm deeply sorry. Part of the blame for this one goes to [Maru](http://dropletons.tumblr.com/), though.

"Goddamn blues!" The strain swore as Fushimi swung his sword, just managing to avoid the surge of blue aura. "Fuck you!"

"No thanks," Fushimi muttered, vaguely irritated with the unexpected combat. It was tiresome to be rounding up strains and rehabilitating them, but he wasn't sure if having one of the random ones who still had powers fight back was any better. He clicked his tongue, keeping a cautious distance as the man darted to the side, and quickly cut off that line of escape with another burst of blue aura, herding his target into the only route left to him - down the narrow alley to the left.

The strain landed in a crouch, glaring back at Fushimi with hateful resentment as he positioned himself at the head of the alley. Here it was - backed into a corner, this guy would no doubt attempt to make use of what power he happened to have left. Backup was probably already on the way in case Fushimi happened to need it, which was possible considering the weakened state of his own powers, but if he could take this one alone it would save him some headaches.

_This is just giving me more paperwork to do._ Fushimi clicked his tongue, gazing steadily at his opponent as he sheathed his sword, deliberately letting a pair of his daggers drop into his palms instead. "It's too early in the day for this," he muttered, and then raised his voice slightly. "You'd save us a lot of time and energy by giving up already."

Predictably, the man smirked back at him, and Fushimi internally sighed, readying himself. "Hah! You'll regret this, blue, just... wait!"

The lunge came as expected, and Fushimi dodged, letting his knives fly to drive the strain back into the corner, but the man changed course instead and dove for him, unexpectedly fast. Even as he evaded the second attack, fingers grazed his elbow, and the world abruptly seemed to drop out from under his feet.

_Damn..._

The strain's ability was -

* * *

Fushimi's awareness jarred back abruptly, his head reeling with momentary disorientation, but he barely had time to make note of that. Hot, urgent pleasure spiked in his lower body - a semi-familiar but unusually intense rush of sensation and that telltale tension in his crotch that marked impending orgasm. He was gripping his own dick, fingers still moving involuntarily, and it was hard and slick, pre-cum leaking from the head, as if he'd been at this for a while.

_What...?_

Even around the confusion, his body seemed to want to move on instinct, too close to climax to process Fushimi's shock. Rational thought was firmly shunted off to the side, and without thinking, he fisted the shaft and stroked it firmly, eyes squeezing shut and a half-gasping moan tearing its way out of his throat. It didn't even _sound_ like him, a thought he was barely aware of as heat and urgency clouded his brain and he began to work himself over furiously. It only took a few frenzied strokes and then his body tipped over the edge, shaking and overwhelmed as pleasure wracked through him and he spilled all over his hand, the unexpected climax catching his already splintered mind off-guard.

It was only in the aftermath, as his body cooled and the shivering stopped, that he began to notice everything else that was wrong about this situation.

He was sitting on something soft, legs loosely splayed in front of him with his underwear tugged down to his knees, and back against a wall. There was the feeling of loose fabric draped over his chest and stomach but with his arms and shoulders curiously free. The air was still and sweltering, and the only sound was his own labored breathing.

_Where am I?_

More importantly, why was he thrust - metaphorically - into the middle of such an embarrassing act? Fushimi clicked his tongue. _What an irritating power to get hit with._ He slid his eyes open slowly - warily - to take in his surroundings. His vision was surprisingly clear, considering he couldn't feel the weight of his glasses on his nose.

The room he was sitting in was unfamiliar, but it looked like somebody's bedroom in some cheap apartment. The futon he was sitting on took up almost the entire floor space, which didn't particularly matter, because the only other thing in the room seemed to be the laundry basket in the corner and the haphazardly folded clothing beside it.

More importantly, though, was the hand held up loosely in front of him. A hand that didn't look like his, holding a picture.

A picture of him, in fact.

_... What._

His gaze darted down to his body - shorter than expected, clad in a black tank top and red boxer shorts. The hand still loosely holding his softening cock was familiar but definitely not his, the skin a shade or so darker and the fingers smaller.

Now that he was at it, that probably wasn't his dick, either.

Fushimi brought up both hands, the left one grasping the picture and the right coated in sticky white fluid, and regarded them flatly. The familiar watch on the left wrist clicked everything into place all at once, and he abruptly remembered the power of the strain he'd been attempting to subdue.

_Switching bodies with the person most important to you, huh?_

Which meant... the person whose bed he was currently sitting on and whose come was all over his hand was...

A tremor was starting in this borrowed body; Fushimi resisted the urge to look down again, though his memory was sure to keep him informed of exactly what Misaki's dick looked like from this angle. He wasn't entirely sure if he wanted that visual in his head. It was likely to lead to some kind of repeat performance once he was back in his own body, but he didn't think it would be helpful to focus on that right at the moment.

Taking stock of the exact situation...

First, he was in Misaki's body, which was conveniently alone in his apartment (thankfully).

Second, he'd arrived in mid jerkoff, which was... irritating (and also arousing in a way he didn't want to consider - it was a struggle to force his brain off the topic of how Misaki's dick had felt in his hand and the way the sensations running through Misaki's body had been subtly different from when he did this to himself - among various other things that would likely all be haunting him later).

Third, this meant that Misaki was in _his_ body, which was either a disaster or extremely bad luck for that strain, depending on how the situation played out. He could probably expect to get some kind of furious, panicked phone call any second, now that he thought about it.

Finally... that was unmistakeably a picture of himself in his borrowed body's left hand, which led to some obvious implications.

Fushimi stared at the image for a long moment, disbelief and something like bewilderment sweeping through him as he allowed that fact to sink in. Even his notoriously cynical mind couldn't come up with an alternate explanation, but it felt unreal. He finally lowered his hands, still a little dazed and distracted, noticing the box of tissue beside him for the first time. After taking a moment to clean his right hand, he pushed himself shakily to his feet, pulling Misaki's boxers up and deliberately avoiding looking at his crotch.

He didn't know how to deal with this realization, which meant it was going to have to wait.

His body - _Misaki's_ body - felt tingly, corresponding directly to the confusing emotions that Fushimi was attempting to suppress. Or maybe it was an extended reaction to the earlier orgasm. Somehow, this body felt more sensitive than his; he was disturbingly aware of his own skin as fabric and fingers brushed over it. He had an unexpectedly strong and sudden urge to touch more places - experiment a bit, maybe find some of Misaki's soft spots - and ruthlessly pushed it down, clenching his teeth as he made his way towards the door.

_How long is this supposed to last for, anyway?_

The PDA on his wrist buzzed as he made his way into the main part of the apartment, and Fushimi clicked his tongue, taking note of his surroundings - his bare and notably poor surroundings - just enough to find the door leading into the washroom before accepting the expected call coming from his own PDA. "I hope you managed to take out that strain."

Misaki's voice sounded notably different from this perspective; it was distracting.

"Huh? This is Saruhiko, right?" Even without the fact that he was hearing his own voice from the outside, the amount of passionate urgency in the tone would have marked it as completely unfamiliar. "What the hell were you doing, fighting that kind of strain this early in the morning? D'you know how annoying that was?"

_Don't talk to me about annoying..._ Fushimi frowned to himself, pushing into the tiny washroom and studying his reflection in the mirror with a kind of offhand fascination. "You didn't let him escape, did you?"

Misaki's frowning face stared back at him, lines of irritation and frustration around his eyes and in the set of his lips. His hair was disheveled, as if he'd only just woken up, and his face was flushed. It was kind of an appealing look, if Fushimi felt like admitting it. Which he didn't.

The face in the mirror stared back at him with wary eyes, flush deepening, and he mentally cursed himself.

_I don't need this right now._

A sharp 'ch' came through the line in response to his earlier statement. "Of course I didn't, but that's not the point! Don't make me clean up your messes, jerk!"

Fushimi clicked his tongue again, watching the image in front of him scowl as his lips curved down and trying to ignore the surreal edge to this entire business. "What kind of mess do you think I had to deal with on your end, huh?"

There was a swift, audible intake of breath over the line. That, and the significant moment of silence that followed, spoke volumes.

"You forgot about that, huh?" Fushimi drawled out, falling into a mocking rhythm by default.

"Sh-shut up!" The edge of panic in that voice was obvious. Hopefully none of his co-workers were listening in. "It's not like I knew this was gonna happen! It's normal to do that - that kind of thing in your own home! Anyway, this is your fault in the first place!"

The dual meaning of that accusation struck him as suddenly and irrationally funny. _My fault that we're in this awkward situation or my fault you were jerking off in the first place?_ Fushimi let that small bubble of laughter escape him, caught between disbelief and something close to hysteria.

This whole thing was just ridiculous, honestly.

"What's so funny?" Misaki demanded, sounding extremely put out.

"Nothing." Fushimi drew out the word, raising his gaze to watch Misaki smirk at him in the mirror and feeling morbidly fascinated with the disconnect that came with it. "That picture, though..."

There was a second of confused silence, and then an abrupt, loud, " _AH!_ " came through the line - followed up almost immediately by a jumbled string of incoherent stuttering.

Somehow, that brought a real smile to his lips, and the sight of it reflected back on Misaki's face caused his heart to clench almost painfully. Fushimi swallowed, considering that tiny edge of discomfort and the obvious meaning behind it. He couldn't help it in the end, it seemed, but that was fine. Even in the middle of confusion and crippling uncertainty, the solid, unchanging reality of Misaki's importance in his life could still offer him some stability.

_It's only fair._ Fushimi shut his eyes, letting out a soft, almost resigned huff of breath. _Since he's the one who causes these feelings in the first place._

"Shut up, idiot," he finally responded, not even minding the kind of exasperated fondness in the tone of Misaki's voice. "You're going to give my body a panic attack if you don't cut it out. Anyway, it's not like I mind."

"I'm not! I just - eh?" There was another brief, startled pause as Misaki evidently took the time to process the last statement. When he spoke again, there was a note of tentatively uncertainty in his - or rather, Fushimi's - voice. "W-wait. What did you just - ?"

It felt like too much of a push to come right out and say it. Fushimi settled for muttering, "Figure it out for yourself," and disconnected the call before he caught more than the beginning of a protest from the other side. At that point, his heart was already racing as if he was still fighting that strain, but he felt strangely exhilarated, and the smile that was already on his face widened just a bit more before he'd realized it.

_Go ahead and chase after me again, Misaki._


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** valentines (from #onedayk on Twitter)

It was almost the end of the day when Yata made it back home - half past eleven at night, in fact - which was partly because he'd been helping Kusanagi out and partly because he was still kind of embarrassed to have made chocolate for Valentines Day. Technically, it was a girls' holiday. He'd received homemade candies from Anna earlier that day, along with everyone else in Homra. No one had said anything about his use of the kitchen at the bar to make his own chocolates, though.

Honestly, being in a relationship with a guy made this confusing, especially with it being so new, and doubly so because they lived together already. He didn't know if he should do the Valentines thing, or White Day, or maybe even both. No matter what he did, it seemed like Saruhiko was probably going to tease him.

Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if Saruhiko teased him _more_ for being lame enough to wait until the day was almost over before offering up his gift.

_Whatever._ Yata sighed, brushing his fingers over the bulge in his pocket where he'd stowed the tiny, ribbon-tied bag before unlocking the door and letting himself in. Saruhiko's work boots were there at the entrance, so he wasn't working overtime, at least. A tiny twinge of nerves sprung to life in Yata's stomach, but he did his best to ignore it. "I'm home."

Silence answered him, which wasn't all that unusual. _He's probably working on something, huh?_ Yata kicked off his shoes and stowed his skateboard by the door, stepping into the main part of their tiny apartment. The lights were on, and the bedroom door was shut. Still nothing unusual, but...

_Wait - is that a burning smell?_

It was faint but unmistakeable, growing a little stronger as he stepped in to check the kitchen. The fan was still on, and there was a lingering edge of a chill in the air that he hadn't noticed before, having just come in from outside. It was like the window had been open for a while, and only just recently been closed.

_Huh._

The kitchen looked like it had been cleaned recently, but as he came in, he could see dishes still soaking in the sink and little flecks of substance in the harder to notice areas. Obviously, someone - well, Saruhiko, since he was the only person other than Yata who could - had made something, and done his best to hide as many traces as possible of what it might have been.

Yata could feel the fond grin spreading on his face almost before it even came out. _Seriously, what the hell?_ It was so typical. On instinct, he leaned over the counter to check the small kitchen garbage, and - sure enough - those were definitely some fried-looking chocolate remains. He'd failed enough batches in the past to recognize the look.

Somehow, that gave him kind of a warm feeling in his chest. Yata shut his eyes, letting out another huff of breath. It wasn't like the chocolate itself was all that important, after all. The very obvious evidence of effort that his newly acquired boyfriend had tried so hard to cover up was more than enough.

_Well, he can't tease me if we both had the same idea, right?_ That thought gave him a renewed sense of confidence. Yata straightened, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the bag of his own chocolates before slipping them behind his back and heading for the bedroom door. "Yo, Saruhiko!"

The room was dark, which made the light coming from the monitor of Saruhiko's laptop seem even brighter. "What is it?" he mumbled back, not bothering to turn his head.

That would've been really annoying if Yata didn't already know that Saruhiko was just embarrassed over the recent failure. "What kind of greeting is that?" he shot back all the same, without any real heat, and made his way over to the desk. "We're dating, right? Show a little enthusiasm!"

At that, Saruhiko did move, tipping his head back to regard Yata with flat irritation. "Who promised you enthusiasm?"

"Heh." Yata grinned back at him, still a little too buzzed from his recent discovery to be bothered in return. "At least you looked." Even with the unpleasant expression and the poor lighting, he couldn't help the little prickle of excitement when their eyes met. "Happy Valentines Day, by the way."

Saruhiko frowned back at him, looking a tiny bit disgruntled at the reminder. "I guess. His gaze flickered to the computer screen quickly. "For another twenty-five minutes, anyway."

"Yeah, yeah." Yata brushed that aside, shrugging a little. "Anyway..." He pulled his hand out from behind his back, shoving the bag of chocolates practically into Saruhiko's face. "Here."

Even with the reflection on his glasses, it was possible to see how Saruhiko's eyes widened a notch. It was kind of endearing, really - but he seemed to recover fast enough. "What's this?"

"What do you think? Chocolate, of course! It's Valentines Day, after all." Yata waved the bag a little. "Go ahead, take it."

For a second, he thought Saruhiko might actually refuse, but after that small hesitation, his boyfriend reached out to carefully pluck the gift from his hand, staring at it as if he half expected it to blow up on him. "This is a girls' holiday, you know," he said finally.

Yata raised a slightly disgruntled eyebrow at him, frowning. "Whatever - we're dating, so it doesn't matter." After a split second's thought, the frown shifted back into a smirk. "Anyway, are you really gonna say that to me with a straight face? I saw the stuff you dumped in the garbage. What's up with that, then, huh? Didn't you try to do the same for me?"

Saruhiko let out a small grunt of surprise, frown deepening with obvious displeasure at being caught. It was hard to tell in the dark, but it looked like a hint of color had risen on his cheeks. He clicked his tongue and reluctantly muttered, "That's not it."

"So, what, they're for your other boyfriend, then?" Yata grinned back, ruthlessly enjoying the emabarrassed reaction. "Come on, we're going out, so you can at least admit you kinda like me sometimes, huh?"

Abruptly, Saruhiko pushed his chair back from the desk and stood, holding the gift in one hand and narrowing his eyes slightly. "If 'sometimes' means 'when you're not talking', then I'll think about it," he grumbled, and leaned in to swallow Yata's answering snicker with a swift, awkward, and still somehow unbelievably sweet kiss.

That was probably a better Valentines gift than chocolates, anyway.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** idols (from #onedayk on Twitter)
> 
>  **Note:** NSFW. PWP. I felt like writing pointless smut, so here you go. Sarumi.

The magazines talked about 'chemistry on-stage', producers talked about 'synergy', and Fushimi had heard various members of Scepter 4 use the word 'harmony', but just from that, he wasn't sure if any of them had a clue what it was actually like in the 'reunion' performances he gave with Misaki, after everything.

Maybe 'harmony' had been a good way to put it back when they were the rising teen duo, Small World, but things were entirely different now.

He didn't really know how to best describe the spark that would strike up even before the concert began - stronger than nerves or any kind of excitement - like fire starting in the pit of his belly. He could take that energy onto the stage and it would ignite, fueled and amplified by the answering flame he could see burning in Misaki whenever their eyes met or their voices strung together in perfect sync.

This time was no exception.

And then Misaki looked at him like _that_ after their second encore, eyes fierce and grin almost predatory, bare chest heaving against the open edges of his button-up shirt, sweat dripping along the edge of his forehead, and the familiar edge of desire snaked in alongside everything else.

Not every concert ended like this, but... most of them did.

That was why he wasn't surprised when Misaki slammed him against the door of his own dressing room once inside, barely leaving time for Fushimi to flip the lock before they were all over each other, lips and tongue mingling harsly - sloppily - as Misaki's hips jerked against his, his fingers mapping the sweat-slicked planes of Fushimi's stomach.

There was no point resisting _that_ kind of energy; in situations like this, it was easier to shut down the parts of his brain that still instinctively wanted to hold back. They'd done it too many times for that, anyway. Fushimi grabbed handfuls of Misaki's ass and tugged him up and in, the unmistakeable hard lump of Misaki's erection grinding against his leg.

Misaki moaned into his mouth, not bothering to moderate his volume, shamelessly thrusting into the contact as his thumbs found Fushimi's nipples and ran rough circles around them. The twin spikes of sensation, skirting the edge between pleasure and discomfort, pulled a helpless little sound from Fushimi's mouth. His own fingers dug into the thick fabric of Misaki's shorts, and he ground his hips back against the hard, lithe body pressed up to his.

_Some fanzine would have a field day with this..._

That thought was fleeting. Misaki grabbed handfuls of his button-up shirt, tugging him back into the room and then reaching up to shuck both that and the jacket off of Fushimi's shoulders, which meant he had to let go of Misaki's ass - but that was made up for when Misaki's fingers were fumbling with his fly, tugging it from the artfully just-open position to fully open and giving his erection a little relief from confinement. He returned the favor, acceping Misaki's increasingly harsh and desperate kisses as they struggled to remove the last barriers of clothing.

Misaki's cock was quite prominently displayed through the standard-issue briefs, the head of it damp and sticky when Fushimi ran his thumb over it, palming and squeezing the shaft with just enough enthusiasm to draw a shuddering gasp from his partner's mouth.

"Come on," Misaki mumbled urgently against his mouth, tugging roughly at the waist of Fushimi's pants. "Come on, come _on_... You have lube, right?"

He couldn't help the way his lips quirked at that, even as he freed himself of both pants and briefs. "What, you didn't plan ahead?"

"I _never_ fucking plan this shit, it just - mmm - " Misaki didn't seem to mind being cut off, if the way he tongued the line of Fushimi's bottom lip was any indication. "Mmnn... it... it just... happens... goddamnit, you have it, right?"

That hazy, lidded glare was setting Fushimi's brain on fire; he took hold of Misaki's naked hips and brought their bodies back into contact, pulling moans from both of them. "I have it." One incredibly frustrating post-concert session was enough to motivate him to make a point of having it, no matter what. He definitely did not want a repeat. "Under the rug."

That throw rug was another 'make a mistake once' purchase; bruising his knees wasn't pleasant or particularly easy to explain away. He'd gotten a few irritatingly knowing looks from Munakata for that.

Never again.

Misaki's shoulders relaxed. "Good..." He braced a hand at the back of Fushimi's neck and leaned in to bite the fleshy part of his ear, tongue darting out along the edge of it. His voice had noticeably deepened when he spoke again, the low vibration of it making Fushimi shudder. "Good... fuck... yeah, let's do it. Come on."

That was a demand he wasn't about to refuse - not at this point, anyway. "Mm."

They fumbled their way onto the rug, nearly falling - that had happened a time or two in the past - and then Misaki was tugging him down roughly, wrapping his legs around Fushimi's hips and bringing their naked bodies back into contact. The familiar mingled heat and friction drew a breathy moan from him, pleasure clouding his senses and vision blurring out a little even before Misaki reached up, the sexiest little smirk on his face as he plucked off Fushimi's glasses and set them off to the side.

He was close enough that his sight wasn't _too_ badly blurred, but he still narrowed his eyes in return, shifting his weight back on his knees and tugging Misaki's hips up so he'd have access to the lower half of his body.

Misaki's cock was flushed and swollen, leaking a little at the top, and Fushimi gave in to the urge to run his fingers over it, slicking the precum at the head with his thumb and stroking down firmly to watch Misaki's head tip back and his mouth fall open. He took his time running his fingers down along the stretched skin over Misaki's balls before drawing back and reaching over under the edge of the rug.

"Fuck..." Misaki's voice was breathy and fervent; he looked up through narrowed eyes, face flushed with desire as Fushimi slicked his hand thoroughly. He shifted, hips tilting up, legs spreading further, and Fushimi took that moment to slide his fingers between the crack of Misaki's ass, seeking and finding the familier puckered entrance.

They did this often enough that he didn't need to be too careful. Fushimi started with two fingers, relishing Misaki's little swear and the way his leg muscles tightened. His inner muscles, too, clamped down in insinctive defense before relaxing again at the promise of pleasure, and Fushimi wiggled the digits reflexively before pulling back to add the third.

Misaki was panting, fingers clenching in the rug; he glared up at Fushimi. "I'm... fine, goddamnit... quit fooling around! Put it in already, for fuck's sake!"

It was a bit of a turn on when he got demanding, not that Fushimi was going to admit it. "If you say so," he murmured, pulling back to slick his hand again before running it languidly over his own cock, gritting his teeth against the spike of sensation and focussing on coating it thoroughly before leaning forward and lining himself up, making sure to make eye contact before pushing forward into the tight warmth of Misaki's body.

The rush when they joined like this was almost blinding. Fushimi's fingers trembled with the effort of not tightening up too much on Misaki's thigh; they couldn't afford to leave any kind of mark and risk being outted. His breath caught and stuttered in his throat, pleasure surging through what felt like every nerve ending on his body.

Misaki's low groan was approving; his eyes were shut and mouth open, breathing uneven as Fushimi sank in to the hilt. There was a thin trail of fluid leaking from the head of his cock, and Fushimi took that as a cue to wrap his hand around it, giving two hard strokes that had Misaki gasping and moaning without restraint, his body tightening up deliciously. Leaning forward to brace himself above his flushed partner, Fushimi thrust forward, drawing out helpless sounds from both of them as the catch and slide of friction worked its magic.

 _Look at me._ "Misaki..." It came out low and urgent, but Fushimi didn't particularly care about that right then, shifting Misaki's hips up for a better angle and feeling the pleasure in his body spike up dangerously as Misaki's body spasmed in response, his knees squeezing Fushimi's shoulders as he gasped. "Open... your eyes..."

The stuttered request got an immediate response; Misaki's eyes slid open and he stared heatedly back, pupils blown wide and gaze clouded with pleasure. "Saruhiko," he growled back, bracing his arms against the rug and pushing himself up to meet Fushmi's next thrust, hitting the timing just perfectly and sending hot shivers through them both.

Misaki managed to smirk at him through the rush, and Fushimi couldn't help but return it, caught up in heat and sensation and that nameless, indescribeable connection between them, carried over from the stage. Their voices blended together here too, little wordless cries and moans and whimpers of pleasure - the most painfully sweet melody they could create.

This wasn't going to last much longer - it was always hard and fast when it started like this. Fushimi could feel the tension building in his lower body; that rush for completion was mirrored in the way Misaki's hands fisted against the rug, his legs and hips urging Fushimi on faster and harder as he strove for his peak, teeth clenched and eyes burning with want. "Saruhiko..." he moaned again, back arching. "I... fuck..."

That was all the warning he got before Misaki's body clenched up with his orgasm, cock jerking in Fushimi's hand as hot fluid spurted from the tip and he let out a stuttered series of gasping moans. Fushimi only just managed to grit out a tense, shaky, "Mi...saki..." before the combination of visual stimulation and the throbbing heat around his own dick had him tipping over the edge as well, curling up over Misaki's still twitching body and shaking with the intense, rhythmic beats of pleasure.

There was a moment of silence punctuated by harsh, uneven breathing as they came down together.

They were out of sync, but it was still good - a counterpart to the melody from earlier. Fushimi gazed down at the slightly blurred image of his partner, eyelids partially lowered and weariness seeping through every little corner of his body, and got a weary grin in return, clear evidence of a satiation that matched his own. Misaki wriggled beneath him, shifting forward so that Fushimi's softening cock slid free and then reaching up to brace a hand at the back of Fushimi's neck, pulling him down quite firmly so that their mouths could meet in a sloppy, lethargic kiss.

He couldn't feel the rhythm of Misaki's heartbeat, but he was sure it beat in perfect counterpart to his own, a private performance that couldn't be challenged by the roar of a crowd or on-stage chemistry.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** café (from #onedayk on Twitter)

Yata let out a heartfelt, sighing groan, slumping forward in his seat in the break room far enough that his head hit the table in front of him with a thump. "It's over..."

He could more or less manage to serve girls now after almost a year of working at a café, but he couldn't help that flustered, embarrassed feeling that blanked out his thoughts whenever they looked at him. Even knowing it was stupid, he couldn't shake the notion that their eyes stared right through his skin and read his thoughts and weaknesses directly off of his brain.

It didn't help that his table had _four_ of them. College-aged. Very chatty.

It doubly didn't help that _someone_ had slipped them a note stating that their server had a crush on one of them.

"I'm gonna fucking kill that bastard," Yata muttered under his breath, hands clenching into fists where they'd previously been hanging limp beside his body. Since the note hadn't said which girl, _all four_ of them had been overly nice to him, trying to draw him into conversations and keep his attention, giggling at his stuttered excuses and just all around being embarrassing and pushy and _scary_. He felt lucky he'd escaped with his damn life.

And he knew who had done it. Oh, he _definitely_ fucking knew.

Fushimi had only been working at the café for a month, but his personality sucked and they had clashed almost instantly. Yata was kinda self-aware enough to at least know maybe he had trouble reading the mood most of the time, but he was still pretty sure 'Hey, nice to meet ya! I'm Yata!' didn't deserve a baleful glare and a click of the tongue. And - okay - maybe he shouldn't have followed up by scowling and asking what the hell the guy's problem was, but who could blame him?

Well, apparently Kusanagi could, but that was probably more because they'd been snarking at each other in front of customers.

It wasn't totally bad. Fushimi was smart - he was going to college for some genius programmer thing that Yata couldn't have understood if he'd tried - and after the first time they'd accidentally gotten into a conversation without glaring at each other, Yata had found out they had similar taste in video games, similar complaints about customers, and somehow a lot to talk about. When they did have those 'truce' chats, he actually enjoyed himself. Also, Fushimi was super cool and quick-thinking, and so good-looking that sometimes just getting a glimpse of him in the right light could make Yata's throat close up.

Until Fushimi made a smartass comment about his intelligence - or the way he couldn't handle girls - or his height - and then they were at each other's throats until someone else stepped in to separate them.

This current situation - which was actually outside of the usual pattern for them - was the result of Yata having thrown back an insult yesterday - he couldn't even remember what, now - that had apparently touched a sore spot, because Fushimi's expression had turned dark. Yata didn't manage to hit many critical strikes in their arguments, so he'd followed up his advantage, which had gotten him black silence and a murderous look.

And now this.

_Like hell I'm gonna let this go._ There was his pride to consider. Yata lifted his head from the table, the small glimmer of an idea starting to spark in his brain. Anyway, if Fushimi could pull something like this, so could he. _We'll see who gets the last laugh!_

By the time his break had ended, the plan had been formed and Yata was generally feeling much more optimistic. He already had the small, hastily-scrawled note folded and hidden his in fist, ready for action.

"Feeling better, Yata?" Totsuka paused in mid-stride with a tray in his hands to smile warmly at him.

"Yup, I'm good!" Yata grinned back at him, offering a thumbs-up as his older friend nodded and carried on. He did a quick sweep of the café to look for his opponent.

Fushimi was mixing a drink behind the counter, his back to the room. _Could get this done quick then..._ A look at his co-worker's tables showed a middle-aged guy reading the paper, a couple on an obvious date, and a classy-looking woman signing her credit card slip.

_Fucking perfect._ His timing was great. Yata made his way towards the woman's table, keeping an eye on Fushimi to make sure he didn't look over and his pace slow enough that she had time to get up and head for the door before he casually scooped up the bill holder, glancing furtively up to make sure he wasn't being watched before sliding the note inside.

_Got it!_ Yata resisted the urge to grin with the triumph surging through him. _Easy as hell._ He sauntered over to the counter, setting the bill holder down as he'd done before a million times for any of his fellow servers. "Picked up something for ya."

Fushimi shot him a narrow look, and then clicked his tongue. "No one asked you to."

"Yeah, whatever." He was more or less used to that attitude by now, but it still set off a little pit of annoyance in his stomach. Yata frowned. "Some of us are actually _nice_ , jerk."

"Some of you are also idiots," Fushimi responded drily, turning his attention back to the drinks he was topping off with whipped cream. "Don't expect me to do you any favors."

"Don't fucking worry." Yata snorted, brushing past him. Yeah, he was definitely used to Fushimi by now - the casual irritated attitude was almost endearing once you realized how emotionally stilted the guy was. It was pretty much routine now, the way they bantered back and forth; with a few exceptions, they rarely got seriously angry with each other, and the exchanges were becoming kind of fun in a way.

It didn't change the fact that Fushimi totally deserved this, though. Yata tried not to be too obvious about shooting glances his way, as he finished off the drinks and took them on a tray to the table with the couple. The bill holder was still sitting untouched behind the counter where Yata had left it.

Mostly, he was just hoping to get some kind of reaction. Yata held back a grin, checking to see who he was relieving while he waited for Fushimi to return and see the note he'd included. It was pretty simple: a quick 'Meet up tonight? Call me' and a phone number - his own, obviously, because if Fushimi actually called, he was planning to answer and give him hell for falling for it. He didn't expect Fushimi to call. He expected Fushimi to stare at it with disgust, click his tongue, and throw the note into the garbage. Right where Yata could innocently fish it out and bring everyone's attention to it, which would result in a lot of teasing, considering both Totsuka and Shiro were on-shift.

It was a flawless plan.

Because of that, it was really hard not to openly watch when Fushimi came back, picked up the bill holder, and opened it up to get the credit card receipt. He plucked the note from it and brought it up to read, frowning slightly. As Yata snuck glances from the corner of his eyes, Fushimi unexpectedly sighed, folded the note, and reached under his apron to tuck it into his pocket.

_Wait... he's actually gonna keep it?_ That was surprising. And... kinda... Yata ducked his head, careful not to watch as Fushimi moved to stow the receipt in the cash register, his expression just as grumpy as always - like nothing much had just happened.

Somehow, Yata felt a little disappointed. Unsettled, even. _He liked her, huh?_

There was no real reason that should have upset him, but...

A tap on his shoulder stirred him out of that confusing swarm of emotion. When he looked up, startled, Fushimi was eyeing him sharply. "Are you going to laze around back here all afternoon? Not that it matters to me, but I'm sure Totsuka's waiting for a break."

"Ah... right!" A quick glance back at the break schedule proved that right. Yata swallowed his conflicted feelings, avoiding Fushimi's cool-eyed gaze as he started to move back out to the front. "Yeah, I'm going."

It was stupid to even think about it. Besides, this way the prank would turn out better, right? There was no reason he should be disappointed that Fushimi kept the note and planned to call that woman. It didn't matter to him one way or another what kind of person Fushimi wanted to date. Right?

Except... maybe...

"You know," Fushimi muttered, so quietly that Yata nearly missed it - but since he'd caught it, the words were enough to halt him in his tracks. When he glanced back, Fushimi was deliberately looking away from him, an expression that Yata hadn't seen before on his face. Like a mix between sullen and reluctant, but... kind of cuter.

_Wait, what?_

There was no time to examine that thought, because Fushimi was still talking. "It's ridiculous to say 'call me' when we're working the same shift." He clicked his tongue, and met Yata's gaze again, the sullen look dropping off as he raised an eyebrow. "I'm off an hour before you, so I'll just wait in the break room. Don't waste too much time."

Yata blinked at him, momentarily unable to process. Comprehension was slowly dawning in his brain, though; as he stared, the reality of what Fushimi had just said abruptly hit him, and he felt his mouth drop open, heat rising fast up his neck and over his face. "Ha... y-you... b-but... I..."

"Was that too much for your limited brain? Figures." The corners of Fushimi's mouth actually edged up a little. The smile wasn't condescending or mocking, but seemed sincere - like the rare times he'd done it during their civil conversations. In the current moment, it made Yata's cheeks feel like they'd caught fire; his heart was racing in his chest. Fushimi shrugged slightly, a bit awkwardly, and added, "Well. I don't mind."

Yata could only stare at him, unable to think of a single thing to say. His brain had gone completely blank, but he felt strangely captivated by the sight of Fushimi's smile and the implications of exactly what he was saying.

_He doesn't mind, so... that means..._

Fushimi abruptly straightened, turning away from Yata deliberately. "Anyway, I still have work to do." As he moved away, he added without looking back, "Once you pick your wits up from the floor, you should get back to it too, Misaki. It shouldn't take you long, since you don't have that many to begin with."

That was enough to kick him out of it. "Sh-shut up, jerk!" Yata snapped at Fushimi's thin, retreating back. He didn't get a response, which wasn't a surprise, but the automatic habit at least brought him back to reality.

... A reality in which he apparently had a date.

With Fushimi.

The tiny fluttering feeling in his stomach seemed to indicate that wasn't... exactly a bad thing. Yata stared after Fushimi with something like a mix of shock and wonder, his face still burning and a storm of emotion raging in his head. _I guess... I don't mind either._ As he watched, Fushimi changed direction so that his profile was visible, and it was just barely possible to notice the faint hint of red on his cheeks as well. It set Yata's already fast-beating heart into a frenzy.

It wasn't an outcome he'd thought of, but hell, he'd take it!


End file.
